VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

V£    V<    N< 

The  Pit 

The  Octopus 

A  Man's  Woman 


VANDOVER  AND  THE 


BY 

FRANK  NORRIS 


DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

1914 


Copyright, 

DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE    &    COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


H/4 


FOREWORD 

The  following  novel  was  completed  by  Frank  Norris 
in  1895.  It  was  written  almost  simultaneously  with  "  Mc- 
Teague, "  although  the  latter  book  was  conceived  and 
actually  begun  at  an  earlier  date,  and  finished  fully  two 
years  later.  His  third  novel,  "Moran  of  the  Lady  Letty," 
appeared  first  in  book  form  in  September,  1898;  "Mc- 
Teague"  followed  in  six  months;  two  more  were  pub 
lished  within  the  next  year.  There  seemed  no  room  at 
the  time  for  "Vandover  and  the  Brute."  It  was  destined 
to  have  a  curious  history. 

Shortly  after  Frank  Norris'  death  certain  publishers, 
learning  of  the  existence  of  a  completed  novel  from  his 
pen,  desired  to  publish  it.  The  manuscript  —  no  copy  of 
which  had  ever  been  made  —  had  been  packed  away  in  a 
crate,  and  was  in  storage  in  a  large  warehouse  in  San  Fran 
cisco.  It  was  impossible  to  determine  in  which  crate  among 
many  others  the  manuscript  had  been  placed.  While 
the  question  of  opening  these  crates  one  by  one  was 
being  discussed,  the  earthquake  and  fire  occurred;  the 
warehouse  burned  to  the  ground,  and  it  was  assumed  that 
its  contents  were  consumed  with  it.  A  little  over  a  year 
ago  a  letter  was  received  from  the  storage  company 
stating  that  certain  furniture  and  boxes  had  been  moved 
away  from  the  warehouse  just  before  the  building  caught 


"C.9&2G 


vi  FOREWORD 

fire.  These  had  been  transferred  to  a  safer  place  and  when 
a  readjustment  took  place,  it  was  discovered  that  a  few 
of  the  crates  had  not  been  properly  labelled  and  the  con 
tents  of  one  or  two  of  them  failed  to  identify  the  owner. 
The  manuscript  of  "  Vandover  and  the  Brute"  was  found, 
but  it  so  happened  that  the  signature  of  the  title  sheet  had 
been  cut  out  for  the  sake  of  the  autograph.  The  matter 
remained  unsettled  for  seven  years  until  a  junior  member 
of  the  firm  one  day  began  to  read  the  manuscript,  recog 
nized  its  author's  style  at  once,  and  a  complete  identifica 
tion  resulted. 

The  greater  parts  of  "Vandover  and  the  Brute"  and 
"McTeague"  were  written  in  the  years  of  1894  and  1895. 
It  was  at  this  period  of  Frank  Norris'  life  that  his  career 
began  to  shape  itself.  In  1894  he  completed  his  four 
years'  course  at  the  University  of  California  and  came 
East  to  take  post-graduate  work  in  the  English  depart 
ment  of  Harvard  University  under  the  instruction  of 
Prof.  L.  E.  Gates.  This  was  undoubtedly  the  most  for 
mative  year  of  his  life.  That  he  appreciated  this  fact  at 
the  time  is  shown  by  his  dedication  of  "McTeague"  to 
Professor  Gates.  As  far  as  I  am  able  to  determine,  "Mc 
Teague"  was  begun  and  the  bulk  of  it  was  written  before 
he  left  California.  While  he  was  at  Cambridge  he  com 
menced  "Vandover  and  the  Brute,"  which  he  completed 
after  his  return  to  San  Francisco. 

The  earlier  chapters  of  "Vandover  and  the  Brute"  bear 
evidence  to  the  Harvard  influence.  One  can  easily  per 
ceive,  after  reading  the  novel,  how  the  story  ran  away  from 
its  author.  The  conception  of  the  book  is  big,  too  big 
to  be  handled  with  the  dexterity  that  the  powerful  theme 


FOREWORD  vii 

of  "McTeague"  afterward  received  from  the  more  mature 
mind  of  its  creator.  The  story  of  "Vandover  and  the 
Brute"  did  not  work  out  as  its  author  originally  conceived 
it.  The  dominant  idea  of  the  novel  possessed  its  writer 
to  the  exclusion  of  the  less  important  details  of  the  plot. 
The  meeting  of  young  Haight  and  Flossie  in  "The  Impe 
rial"  was  obviously  intended  to  become  a  much  more  im 
portant  episode.  So  it  is  with  the  character  of  Turner 
Ravis,  which  is  allowed  to  drop  out  of  the  action  of  the 
story  with  a  complete  disregard  of  the  care  that  was  taken 
with  its  introduction  and  development.  The  pages  of  the 
original  manuscript  of  "Vandover  and  the  Brute"  are 
eloquent  of  the  struggle  its  author  underwent  to  bring  it 
to  its  logical  and  artistic  conclusion. 

The  influence  of  Emil  Zola  is  evident  throughout  the 
story.  The  great  Frenchman  was  the  inspiration  that 
led  Frank  Norris  to  attempt  the  role  of  novelist.  No  one 
can  question  how  well  he  succeeded.  His  own  generation 
has  acclaimed  him  one  of  America's  greatest  writers. 
"Vandover  and  the  Brute"  bears  the  evidence,  I  believe, 
of  the  most  significant  phase  in  his  development  as  a 
writer.  It  is  for  that  reason  that  it  is  published.  Some 
may  question  the  wisdom  of  this;  yet  there  are  passages 
in  the  novel  that  are  as  fine,  if  not  finer,  than  anything 
he  afterward  wrote.  In  justice  to  the  author,  the  reader 
should  bear  in  mind  that,  just  as  much  as  "McTeague" 
was  changed  and  improved  before  it  was  published,  so 
"Vandover  and  the  Brute"  would  have  been  altered  and 
rewritten  were  its  author  here  to  bring  to  its  revision  his 
riper  judgment. 

In  an  essay  entitled  "The  True  Reward  of  the  Novel- 


viii  FOREWORD 

ist, "  written  by  Frank  Norris  many  years  later,  there  oc 
curs  this  passage : 

"Once  more  we  halt  upon  the  great  word  —  sincerity, 
sincerity,  and  again  sincerity.  Let  the  writer  attack 
his  .  .  .  novel  with  sincerity  and  he  cannot  then  go 
wrong.  .  .  .  His  public  may  be  small,  perhaps,  but 
he  will  have  the  better  reward  of  the  knowledge  of  a  thing 
well  done.  Royalties  on  editions  of  hundreds  of  thou 
sands  will  not  pay  him  more  to  his  satisfaction  than  that. 
To  make  money  is  not  the  province  of  the  novelist.  If  he 
is  the  right  sort,  he  has  other  responsibilities,  heavy  ones. 
Be  of  all  men  cannot  think  only  of  himself  or  for  himself. 
And  when  the  last  page  is  written  and  the  ink  crusts  on  the 
pen  point  and  the  hungry  presses  go  clashing  after  another 
writer,  the  *  new  man'  and  the  new  fashion  of  the  hour,  he 
will  think  of  the  grim,  long  grind,  of  the  years  of  his  life 
that  hehas  put  behind  him,  and  of  his  work  that  he  has  built 
up  volume  by  volume,  sincere  work,  telling  the  truth  as  he 
saw  it,  independent  of  fashion  and  the  gallery  gods,  hold 
ing  to  these  with  gripped  hands  and  shut  teeth  —  he  will 
think  of  all  this  then,  and  he  will  be  able  to  say :  '  I  never 
truckled;  I  never  took  off  the  hat  to  Fashion  and  held  it 
out  for  pennies.  By  God!  I  told  them  the  truth.  They 
liked  it  or  they  didn't  like  it.  What  had  that  to  do  with 
me?  I  told  them  the  truth;  I  knew  it  for  the  truth  then, 
and  I  know  it  for  the  truth  now.'  And  that  is  his  reward 
-  the  best  that  a  man  may  know;  the  only  one  worth  the 
striving  for." 

There  can  be  no  better  example  of  what  Frank  Norris  had 
in  mind  than  "Vandover  and  the  Brute."  One  marvels 
at  the  courage  that  prompted  him  to  write  it.  A  novel 


FOREWORD  ix 

too  strong  to  be  always  palatable,  whose  principal  char 
acter  may  be  described  by  any  other  name  than  that  of 
"hero,"  a  book  whose  only  humour  is  that  of  the  relent 
less  realist,  whose  love  element  is  hardly  more  than  a 
sketch,  and  whose  sinister  story  marches  mercilessly  to 
its  inevitable  and  amazing  conclusion!  A  first  book  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  words  of  such  material! 
Where  was  he  to  find  a  publisher  willing  to  print  it?  While 
he  was  writing  it,  he  knew  he  should  fail  —  that  the  work 
of  those  weary,  endless  hours  in  "47  Gray's,"  grinding 
the  manuscript  out  page  by  page,  was  of  no  avail.  One 
wonders  if  years  later  he  remembered  those  hours  when  he 
wrote:  "I  told  them  the  truth.  They  liked  it  or  they 
didn't  like  it.  What  had  that  to  do  with  me?  I  told 
them  the  truth ;  I  knew  it  for  the  truth  then,  and  I  know  it 
for  the  truth  now." 

CHARLES  G.  NORRIS. 
February,  1914. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 


VANDOVER  AND 
THE  BRUTE 


CHAPTER  ONE 

IT  WAS  always  a  matter  of  wonder  to  Vandover  that  he 
was  able  to  recall  so  little  of  his  past  life.  With  the  excep 
tion  of  the  most  recent  events  he  could  remember  nothing 
connectedly.  What  he  at  first  imagined  to  be  the  story 
of  his  life,  on  closer  inspection  turned  out  to  be  but  a  few 
disconnected  incidents  that  his  memory  had  preserved 
with  the  greatest  capriciousness,  absolutely  independent 
of  their  importance.  One  of  these  incidents  might  be 
a  great  sorrow,  a  tragedy,  a  death  in  his  family;  and  an 
other,  recalled  with  the  same  vividness,  the  same  accuracy 
of  detail,  might  be  a  matter  of  the  least  moment. 

A  certain  one  of  these  wilful  fillips  of  memory  would 
always  bring  before  him  a  particular  scene  during  the 
migration  of  his  family  from  Boston  to  their  new  home  in 
San  Francisco,  at  a  time  when  Vandover  was  about  eight 
years  old. 

It  was  in  the  depot  of  one  of  the  larger  towns  in  western 
New  York.  The  day  had  been  hot  and  after  the  long 
ride  on  the  crowded  day  coach  the  cool  shadow  under  the 
curved  roof  of  the  immense  iron  vaulted  depot  seemed 
very  pleasant.  The  porter,  the  brakeman  and  Vandover 's 
father  very  carefully  lifted  his  mother  from  the  car.  She 
was  lying  back  on  pillows  in  a  long  steamer  chair.  The 

3 


4  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

three  men  let  the  chair  slowly  down,  the  brakeman  went 
away,  but  the  porter  remained,  taking  off  his  cap  and 
wiping  his  forehead  with  the  back  of  his  left  hand,  which 
in  turn  he  wiped  against  the  pink  palm  of  his  right.  The 
other  train,  the  train  to  which  they  were  to  change,  had 
not  yet  arrived.  It  was  rather  still;  at  the  far  end  of  the 
depot  a  locomotive,  sitting  back  on  its  motionless  drivers 
like  some  huge  sphinx  crouching  along  the  rails,  was 
steaming  quietly,  drawing  long  breaths.  The  repair 
gang  in  greasy  caps  and  spotted  blue  overalls  were  in 
specting  the  train,  pottering  about  the  trucks,  opening 
and  closing  the  journal-boxes,  striking  clear  notes  on  the 
wheels  with  long-handled  hammers. 

Vandover  stood  close  to  his  father,  his  thin  legs  wide 
apart,  holding  in  both  his  hands  the  satchel  he  had  been 
permitted  to  carry.  He  looked  about  him  continually,  roll 
ing  his  big  eyes  vaguely,  watching  now  the  repair-gang, 
now  a  huge  white  cat  dozing  on  an  empty  baggage  truck. 

Several  passengers  were  walking  up  and  down  the  plat 
form,  staring  curiously  at  the  invalid  lying  back  in  the 
steainer  chair. 

The  journey  was  too  much  for  her.  She  was  very  weak 
and  very  pale,  her  eyelids  were  heavy,  the  skin  of  her 
forehead  looked  blue  and  tightly  drawn,  and  tiny  beads 
of  perspiration  gathered  around  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
Vandover's  father  put  his  hand  and  arm  along  the  back 
of  the  chair  and  his  sick  wife  rested  against  him,  leaning 
her  head  on  his  waistcoat  over  the  pocket  where  he  kept 
his  cigars  and  pocket-comb.  They  were  all  silent. 

By  and  by  she  drew  a  long  sigh,  her  face  became  the 
face  of  an  imbecile,  stupid,  without  expression,  her  eyes 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  5 

half-closed,  her  mouth  half-open.  Her  head  rolled  for 
ward  as  though  she  were  nodding  in  her  sleep,  while  a 
long  drip  of  saliva  trailed  from  her  lower  lip.  Vandover's 
father  bent  over  her  quickly,  crying  out  sharply,  "Hal- 
lie!  —  what  is  it?"  All  at  once  the  train  for  which  they 
were  waiting  charged  into  the  depot,  filling  the  place 
with  a  hideous  clangor  and  with  the  smell  of  steam  and  of 
hot  oil. 

This  scene  of  her  death  was  the  only  thing  that  Van- 
dover  could  remember  of  his  mother. 

As  he  looked  back  over  his  life  he  could  recall  nothing 
after  this  for  nearly  five  years.  Even  after  that  lapse  of 
time  the  only  scene  he  could  picture  with  any  degree  of 
clearness  was  one  of  the  greatest  triviality  in  which  he 
saw  himself,  a  rank  thirteen-year-old  boy,  sitting  on  a  bit 
of  carpet  in  the  back  yard  of  the  San  Francisco  house  play 
ing  with  his  guinea-pigs. 

In  order  to  get  at  his  life  during  his  teens,  Vandover 
would  have  been  obliged  to  collect  these  scattered  memory 
pictures  as  best  he  could,  rearrange  them  in  some  more 
orderly  sequence,  piece  out  what  he  could  imperfectly 
recall  and  fill  in  the  many  gaps  by  mere  guesswork  and 
conjecture. 

It  was  the  summer  of  1880  that  they  had  come  to  San 
Francisco.  Once  settled  there,  Vandover's  father  began 
to  build  small  residence  houses  and  cheap  flats  which  he 
rented  at  various  prices,  the  cheapest  at  ten  dollars,  the 
more  expensive  at  thirty-five  and  forty.  He  had  closed 
out  his  business  in  the  East,  coming  out  to  California  on 
account  of  his  wife's  ill  health.  He  had  made  his  money 
in  Boston  and  had  intended  to  retire. 


6  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  i 

But  he  soon  found  that  he  could  not  do  this.  At  this 
time  he  was  an  old  man,  nearly  sixty.  He  had  given  his 
entire  life  to  his  business  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else,  and  now  when  his  fortune  had  been  made  and  when 
he  could  afford  to  enjoy  it,  discovered  that  he  had  lost 
the  capacity  for  enjoying  anything  but  the  business  itself. 
Nothing  else  could  interest  him.  He  was  not  what  would 
be  called  in  America  a  rich  man,  but  he  had  made  money 
enough  to  travel,  to  allow  himself  any  reasonable  relaxa 
tion,  to  cultivate  a  taste  for  art,  music,  literature  or  the 
drama,  to  indulge  in  any  harmless  fad,  such  as  collecting 
etchings,  china  or  bric-a-brac,  or  even  to  permit  himself 
the  luxury  of  horses.  In  the  place  of  all  these  he  found 
himself,  at  nearly  sixty  years  of  age,  forced  again  into  the 
sordid  round  of  business  as  the  only  escape  from  the 
mortal  ennui  and  weariness  of  the  spirit  that  preyed  upon 
him  during  every  leisure  hour  of  the  day. 

Early  and  late  he  went  about  the  city,  personally  super 
intending  the  building  of  his  little  houses  and  cheap  flats, 
sitting  on  saw-horses  and  piles  of  lumber,  watching  the 
carpenters  at  w^ork.  In  the  evening  he  came  home  to  a 
late  supper,  completely  fagged,  bringing  with  him  the 
smell  of  mortar  and  of  pine  shavings. 

On  the  first  of  each  month  when  his  agents  turned  over 
the  rents  to  him  he  was  in  great  spirits.  He  would  bring 
home  the  little  canvas  sack  of  coin  with  him  before  bank 
ing  it,  and  call  his  son's  attention  to  the  amount,  never 
failing  to  stick  a  twenty-dollar  gold-piece  in  each  eye, 
monocle  fashion,  exclaiming,  "Good  for  the  masses,"  a 
meaningless  jest  that  had  been  one  of  the  family's  house 
hold  words  for  years. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  7 

His  plan  of  building  was  peculiar.  His  credit  was  good, 
and  having  chosen  his  lot  he  would  find  out  from  the 
banks  how  much  they  would  loan  him  upon  it  in  case  he 
should  become  the  owner.  If  this  amount  suited  him,  he 
would  buy  the  lot,  making  one  large  payment  outright 
and  giving  his  note  for  the  balance.  The  lot  once  his, 
the  banks  loaned  him  the  desired  amount.  With  this 
money  and  with  money  of  his  own  he  would  make  the 
final  payment  on  the  lot  and  would  begin  the  building 
itself,  paying  his  labour  on  the  nail,  but  getting  his  mate 
rial,  lumber,  brick  and  fittings  on  time.  When  the  build 
ing  was  half-way  up  he  would  negotiate  a  second  loan 
from  the  banks  in  order  to  complete  it  and  in  order 
to  meet  the  notes  he  had  given  to  his  contractors  for 
material. 

He  believed  this  to  be  a  shrewd  business  operation, 
since  the  rents  as  they  returned  to  him  were  equal  to  the 
interest  on  a  far  larger  sum  than  that  which  he  had  orig 
inally  invested.  He  said  little  about  the  double  mortgage 
on  each  piece  of  property  "improved"  after  this  fashion 
and  which  often  represented  a  full  two-thirds  of  its  entire 
value.  The  interest  on  each  loan  was  far  more  than  cov 
ered  by  the  rents;  he  chose  his  neighbourhoods  with  great 
discrimination;  real  estate  was  flourishing  in  the  rapidly 
growing  city,  and  the  new  houses,  although  built  so  cheaply 
that  they  were  mere  shells  of  lath  and  plaster,  were 
nevertheless  made  gay  and  brave  with  varnish  and  cheap 
mill-work.  They  rented  well  at  first,  scarcely  a  one  was 
ever  vacant.  People  spoke  of  the  Old  Gentleman  as  one 
of  the  most  successful  realty  owners  in  the  city.  So 
pleased  did  he  become  with  the  success  of  his  new  venture 


8  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

that  in  course  of  time  all  his  money  was  reinvested  after 
this  fashion. 

At  the  time  of  his  father's  greatest  prosperity  Vandover 
himself  began  to  draw  toward  his  fifteenth  year,  entering 
upon  that  period  of  change  when  the  first  raw  elements 
of  character  began  to  assert  themselves  and  when,  if 
ever,  there  was  a  crying  need  for  the  influence  of  his 
mother.  Any  feminine  influence  would  have  been  well 
for  him  at  this  time:  that  of  an  older  sister,  even  that  of  a 
hired  governess.  The  housekeeper  looked  after  him  a 
little,  mended  his  clothes,  saw  that  he  took  his  bath  Sat 
urday  nights,  and  that  he  did  not  dig  tunnels  under  tke 
garden  walks.  But  her  influence  was  entirely  negative 
and  prohibitory  and  the  two  were  constantly  at  war. 
Vandover  grew  in  a  haphazard  way  and  after  school 
hours  ran  about  the  streets  almost  at  will. 

At  fifteen  he  put  on  long  trousers,  and  the  fall  of  the 
same  year  entered  the  High  School.  He  had  grown  too 
fast  and  at  this  time  was  tall  and  very  lean;  his  limbs  were 
straight,  angular,  out  of  all  proportion,  with  huge  articu 
lations  at  the  elbows  and  knees.  His  neck  was  long  and 
thin  and  his  head  large,  his  face  was  sallow  and  covered 
with  pimples,  his  ears  were  big,  red  and  stuck  out  stiff 
from  either  side  of  his  head.  His  hair  he  wore  "pompa 
dour." 

Within  a  month  after  his  entry  of  the  High  School  he 
had  a  nickname.  The  boys  called  him  "Skinny-seldom- 
fed,"  to  his  infinite  humiliation. 

Little  by  little  the  crude  virility  of  the  young' man  began 
to  develop  in  him.  It  was  a  distressing,  uncanny  period. 
Had  Vandover  been  a  sir!  be  would  at  this  time  have  been 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  9 

subject  to  all  sorts  of  abnormal  vagaries,  such  as  eating 
his  slate  pencil,  nibbling  bits  of  chalk,  wishing  he  were 
dead,  and  drifting  into  states  of  unreasoned  melancholy. 
As  it  was,  his  voice  began  to  change,  a  little  golden  down 
appeared  on  his  cheeks  and  upon  the  nape  of  his  neck, 
while  his  first  summer  vacation  was  altogether  spoiled  by 
a  long  spell  of  mumps. 

His  appetite  was  enormous.  He  ate  heavy  meat  three 
times  a  day,  but  took  little  or  no  exercise.  The  pimples 
on  his  face  became  worse  and  worse.  He  grew  peevish 
and  nervous.  He  hated  girls,  and  when  in  their  society 
was  a  very  bull-calf  for  bashfulness  and  awkward  self- 
consciousness.  At  times  the  strangest  and  most  morbid 
fancies  took  possession  of  him,  chief  of  which  was  that 
every  one  was  looking  at  him  while  he  was  walking  in  the 
street. 

Vandover  was  a  good  little  boy.  Every  night  he  said 
his  prayers,  going  down  upon  his  huge  knees  at  the  side 
of  his  bed.  To  the  Lord's  Prayer  he  added  various  peti 
tions  of  his  own.  He  prayed  that  he  might  be  a  good  boy 
and  live  a  long  time  and  go  to  Heaven  when  he  died  and 
see  his  mother;  that  the  next  Saturday  might  be  sunny  all 
day  long,  and  that  the  end  of  the  world  might  not  come 
while  he  was  alive. 

It  was  during  Vandover's  first  year  at  the  High  School 
that  his  eyes  were  opened  and  that  he  acquired  the  knowl 
edge  of  good  and  evil.  Till  very  late  he  kept  his  inno 
cence,  the  crude  raw  innocence  of  the  boy,  like  that  of  a 
young  animal;  at  on.ce  charming  and  absurd.  But  by 
a?id  by  he  became  very  curious,  stirred  with  a  blind  un 
reasoned  instinct.  In  the  Bible  which  he  read  Sunday 


10  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

afternoons,  because  his  father  gave  him  a  quarter  for 
doing  so,  he  came  across  a  great  many  things  that  filled 
him  with  vague  and  strange  ideas;  and  one  Sunday  at 
church,  when  the  minister  was  intoning  the  Litany,  he 
remarked  for  the  first  time  the  words,  "all  women  in  the 
perils  of  child-birth." 

He  puzzled  over  this  for  a  long  time,  smelling  out  a 
mystery  beneath  the  words,  feeling  the  presence  of  some 
thing  hidden,  with  the  instinct  of  a  young  brute.  He 
could  get  no  satisfaction  from  his  father  and  by  and  by 
began  to  be  ashamed  to  ask  him;  why,  he  did  not  know. 
Although  he  could  not  help  hearing  the  abominable  talk 
of  the  High  School  boys,  he  at  first  refused  to  believe  that 
part  of  it  which  he  could  understand.  For  all  that  he 
was  ashamed  of  his  innocence  and  ignorance  and  affected 
to  appreciate  their  stories  nevertheless. 

At  length  one  day  he  heard  the  terse  and  brutal  truth. 
In  an  instant  he  believed  it,  some  lower,  animal  intuition 
in  him  reiterating  and  confirming  the  fact.  But  even  then 
he  hated  to  think  that  people  were  so  low,  so  vile.  One 
day,  however,  he  was  looking  through  the  volumes  of  the 
old  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  in  his  father's  library, 
hoping  that  he  might  find  a  dollar  bill  which  the  Old 
Gentleman  told  him  had  been  at  one  time  misplaced 
between  the  leaves  of  some  one  of  the  great  tomes.  All 
at  once  he  came  upon  the  long  article  "Obstetrics,"  pro 
fusely  illustrated  with  old-fashioned  plates  and  steel 
engravings.  He  read  it  from  beginning  to  end. 

It  was  the  end  of  all  his  childish  ideals,  the  destruction 
of  all  his  first  illusions.  The  whole  of  his  rude  little 
standard  of  morality  was  lowered  immediately.  Even 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  11 

his  mother,  whom  he  had  always  believed  to  be  some  kind 
of  an  angel,  fell  at  once  in  his  estimation.  She  could 
never  be  the  same  to  him  after  this,  never  so  sweet,  so 
good  and  so  pure  as  he  had  hitherto  imagined  her. 

It  was  very  cruel,  the  whole  thing  was  a  grief  to  him,  a 
blow,  a  great  shock;  he  hated  to  think  of  it.  Then  little 
by  little  the  first  taint  crept  in,  the  innate  vice  stirred  in 
him,  the  brute  began  to  make  itself  felt,  and  a  multitude 
of  perverse  and  vicious  ideas  commenced  to  buzz  about 
him  like  a  swarm  of  nasty  flies. 

A  certain  word,  the  blunt  Anglo-Saxon  name  for  a  lost 
woman,  that  he  heard  on  one  occasion  among  the  boys  at 
school,  opened  to  him  a  vista  of  incredible  wickedness, 
but  now  after  the  first  moment  of  revolt  the  thing  began 
to  seem  less  horrible.  There  was  even  a  certain  attrac 
tion  about  it.  Vandover  soon  became  filled  with  an  over 
whelming  curiosity,  the  eager  evil  curiosity  of  the  school 
boy,  the  perverse  craving  for  the  knowledge  of  vice.  He 
listened  with  all  his  ears  to  everything  that  was  said  and 
went  about  through  the  great  city  with  eyes  open  only  to 
its  foulness.  He  even  looked  up  in  the  dictionary  the 
meanings  of  the  new  words,  finding  in  the  cold,  scientific 
definitions  some  strange  sort  of  satisfaction. 

There  was  no  feminine  influence  about  Vandover  at 
this  critical  time  to  help  him  see  the  world  in  the  right 
light  and  to  gauge  things  correctly,  and  he  might  have 
been  totally  corrupted  while  in  his  earliest  teens  had  it  not 
been  for  another  side  of  his  character  that  began  to  develop 
.about  the  same  time. 

This  was  his  artistic  side.  He  seemed  to  be  a  born 
artist.  At  first  he  only  showed  bent  for  all  general  art. 


12  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

He  drew  well,  he  made  curious  little  modellings  in  clayey 
mud;  he  had  a  capital  ear  for  music  and  managed  in  some 
unknown  way  of  his  own  to  pick  out  certain  tunes  on  the 
piano.  At  one  time  he  gave  evidence  of  a  genuine  talent 
for  the  stage.  For  days  he  would  pretend  to  be  some 
dreadful  sort  of  character,  he  did  not  know  whom,  talking 
to  himself,  stamping  and  shaking  his  fists;  then  he  would 
dress  himself  in  an  old  smoking-cap,  a  red  table-cloth  and 
one  of  his  father's  discarded  Templar  swords,  and  pose 
before  the  long  mirrors  ranting  and  scowling.  At  another 
time  he  would  devote  his  attention  to  literature,  making 
up  endless  stories  with  which  he  terrified  himself,  telling 
them  to  himself  in  a  low  voice  for  hours  after  he  had  got 
into  bed.  Sometimes  he  would  write  out  these  stories 
and  read  them  to  his  father  after  supper,  standing  up 
between  the  folding  doors  of  the  library,  acting  out  the 
whole  narrative  with  furious  gestures.  Once  he  even 
wrote  a  little  poem  which  seriously  disturbed  the  Old 
Gentleman,  filling  him  with  formless  ideas  and  vague 
hopes  for  the  future.  -v*-J 

In  a  suitable  environment  Vandover  might  easily  have 
become  an  author,  actor  or  musician,  since  it  was  evident 
that  he  possessed  the  fundamental  afflatus  that  underlies 
all  branches  of  art.  As  it  was,  the  merest  chance  decided 
his  career. 

In  the  same  library  where  he  had  found  the  famous 
encyclopaedia  article  was  "A  Home  Book  of  Art,"  one 
of  those  showily  bound  gift  books  one  sees  lying  about 
conspicuously  on  parlour  centre  tables.  It  was  an  English 
publication  calculated  to  meet  popular  and  general  de 
mand.  There  were  a  great  many  full-page  pictures  of 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  13 

lonely  women,  called  "Reveries"  or  "Idylls,"  ideal 
"Heads"  of  gipsy  girls,  of  coquettes,  and  heads  of  little 
girls  crowned  with  cherries  and  illustrative  of  such  titles 
as  "Spring,"  "Youth,"  "Innocence."  Besides  these 
were  sentimental  pictures,  as,  for  instance,  one  entitled 
"It  Might  Have  Been,"  a  sad-eyed  girl,  with  long  hair, 
musing  over  a  miniature  portrait,  and  another  especially 
impressive  which  represented  a  handsomely  dressed 
woman  flung  upon  a  Louis  Quinze  sofa,  weeping,  her  hands 
clasped  over  her  head.  She  was  alone;  it  was  twilight; 
on  the  floor  was  a  heap  of  opened  letters.  The  picture  was 
called  "Memories." 

Vandover  thought  this  last  a  wonderful  work  of  art  and 
made  a  hideous  copy  of  it  with  very  soft  pencils.  He  was 
so  pleased  with  it  that  he  copied  another  one  of  the  pic 
tures  and  then  another.  By  and  by  he  had  copied  almost 
all  of  them.  His  father  gave  him  a  dollar  and  Vandover 
began  to  add  to  his  usual  evening  petition  the  prayer  that 
he  might  become  a  great  artist.  Thus  it  was  that  his 
career  was  decided  upon. 

He  was  allowed  to  have  a  drawing  teacher.  This  was 
an  elderly  German,  an  immense  old  fellow,  who  wore  a 
wig  and  breathed  loudly  through  his  nose.  His  voice  was 
like  a  trumpet  and  he  walked  with  a  great  striding  gait 
like  a  colonel  of  cavalry.  Besides  drawing  he  taught 
ornamental  writing  and  engrossing.  With  a  dozen  curved 
and  flowing  strokes  of  an  ordinary  writing  pen  he  could 
draw  upon  a  calling  card  a  conventionalized  outline-pic 
ture  of  some  kind  of  dove  or  bird  of  paradise,  all  curves 
and  curlicues,  flying  very  gracefully  and  carrying  in 
its  beak  a  half -open  scroll  upon  which  could  be  inscribed 


14  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

such  sentiments  as  "From  a  Friend"  or  "With  Fond  Re 
gards,"  or  even  one's  own  name. 

His  system  of  drawing  was  of  his  own  invention.  Over 
the  picture  to  be  copied  he  would  paste  a  great  sheet  of 
paper,  ruling  off  the  same  into  spaces  of  about  an  inch 
square.  He  would  cut  out  one  of  these  squares  and  Van- 
dover  would  copy  the  portion  of  the  picture  thus  dis 
closed.  When  he  had  copied  the  whole  picture  in  this 
fashion  the  teacher  would  go  over  it  himself,  retouching 
it  here  and  there,  labouring  to  obviate  the  checker-board 
effect  which  the  process  invariably  produced. 

At  other  times  Vandover  copied  into  his  sketch-book, 
with  hard  crayons,  those  lithographed  studies  on  buff 
paper  which  are  published  by  the  firm  in  Berlin.  He  be 
gan  with  ladders,  wheel-barrows  and  water  barrels,  work 
ing  up  in  course  of  time  to  rustic  buildings  set  in  a  bit  of 
landscape;  stone  bridges  and  rural  mills,  overhung  by 
some  sort  of  linden  tree,  with  ends  of  broken  fences  in  a 
corner  of  the  foreground  to  complete  the  composition. 
From  these  he  went  on  to  bunches  of  grapes,  vases  of 
fruit  and  at  length  to  more  "Ideal  heads."  The  climax 
was  reached  with  a  life-sized  Head,  crowned  with  honey 
suckles  and  entitled  "Flora"  He  was  three  weeks  upon 
it.  It  was  an  achievement,  a  veritable  chef-d'oeuvre. 
Vandover  gave  it  to  his  father  upon  Christmas  morning, 
having  signed  his  name  to  it  with  a  great  ornamental 
flourish.  The  Old  Gentleman  was  astounded,  the  house 
keeper  was  called  in  and  exclaimed  over  it,  raising  her  hands 
to  Heaven.  Vandover's  father  gave  him  a  five-dollar 
gold-piece,  fresh  from  the  mint,  had  the  picture  framed  in 
gilt  and  hung  it  up  in  his  smoking-room  over  the  clock. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  15 

Never  for  a  moment  did  the  Old  Gentleman  oppose 
Vandover 's  wish  to  become  an  artist  and  it  was  he  him 
self  who  first  spoke  about  Paris  to  the  young  man.  Van- 
do  ver  was  delighted;  the  Latin  Quarter  became  his  dream. 
Between  the  two  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  go  over 
as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  course  at  the  High  School. 
The  Old  Gentleman  was  to  take  him  across,  returning 
only  when  he  was  well  established  in  some  suitable  studio. 

At  length  Vandover  graduated,  and  within  three  weeks 
of  that  event  was  on  his  way  to  Europe  with  his  father. 
He  never  got  farther  than  Boston. 

At  the  last  moment  the  Old  Gentleman  wavered.  Van 
dover  was  still  very  young  and  would  be  entirely  alone  in 
Paris,  ignorant  of  the  language,  exposed  to  every  tempta 
tion.  Besides  this,  his  education  would  stop  where  it  was. 
Somehow  he  could  not  make  it  seem  right  to  him  to  cut 
the  young  man  adrift  in  this  fashion.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Old  Gentleman  had  a  great  many  old-time  friends 
and  business  acquaintances  in  Boston  who  could  be 
trusted  with  a  nominal  supervision  of  his  son  for  four 
years.  He  had  no  college  education  himself,  but  in  some 
vague  way  he  felt  convinced  that  Vandover  would  be  a 
better  artist  for  a  four  years'  course  at  Harvard. 

Vandover  took  his  father's  decision  hardly.  He  had 
never  thought  of  being  a  college-man  and  nothing  in  that 
life  appealed  to  him.  He  urged  upon  his  father  the  loss 
of  time  that  the  course  would  entail,  but  his  father  met 
this  objection  by  offering  to  pay  for  any  artistic  tuition 
that  would  not  interfere  with  the  regular  college  work. 

Little  by  little  the  idea  of  college  life  became  more  at 
tractive  to  Vandover;  at  the  worst,  it  was  only  postponing 


16  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

the  Paris  trip,  not  abandoning  it.  Besides  this,  two  of 
his  chums  from  the  High  School  were  expecting  to  enter 
Harvard  that  fall,  and  he  could  look  forward  to  a  very 
pleasant  four  years  spent  in  their  company. 

Out  at  Cambridge  the  term  was  just  closing.  The  Old 
Gentleman's  friends  procured  him  tickets  to  several  of 
the  more  important  functions.  From  the  gallery  of  Memo 
rial  Hall  Vandover  and  his  father  saw  some  of  the  great 
dinners;  they  went  up  to  New  London  for  the  boat-race; 
they  gained  admittance  to  the  historic  Yard  on  Class- 
day,  and  saw  the  strange  football  rush  for  flowers  around 
the  "Tree."  They  heard  the  seniors  sing  "Fair  Har 
vard"  for  the  last  time,  and  later  saw  them  receive  their 
diplomas  at  Sander's  Theatre. 

The  great  ceremonies  of  the  place,  the  picturesqueness 
of  the  elm-shaded  Yard,  the  old  red  dormitories  covered 
with  ivy,  the  associations  and  traditions  of  the  buildings, 
the  venerable  pump,  Longfellow's  room, 'the  lecture  hall 
where  the  minute-men  had  barracked,  all  of  these  things, 
in  the  end,  appealed  strongly  to  Vandover's  imagination. 
Instead  of  passing  the  summer  months  in  an  ocean  voy 
age  and  a  continental  journey,  he  at  last  became  content 
to  settle  down  to  work  under  a  tutor,  "boning  up"  for 
the  examinations.  His  father  returned  to  San  Francisco 
in  July. 

Vandover  matriculated  the  September  of  the  same 
year;  on  the  first  of  October  he  signed  the  college  rolls 
and  became  a  Harvard  freshman.  At  that  time  he  was 
eighteen  years  old. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

THERE  was  little  of  the  stubborn  or  unyielding  about 
Vandover,  his  personality  was  not  strong,  his  nature 
pliable  and  he  rearranged  himself  to  suit  his  new  envi 
ronment  at  Harvard  very  rapidly.  Before  the  end  of  the 
first  semester  he  had  become  to  all  outward  appearances 
a  typical  Harvardian.  He  wore  corduroy  vests  and  a 
gray  felt  hat,  the  brim  turned  down  over  his  eyes.  He 
smoked  a  pipe  and  bought  himself  a  brindled  bull-terrier. 
He  cut  his  lectures  as  often  as  he  dared,  "ragged"  signs 
and  barber-poles,  and  was  in  continual  evidence  about 
Foster's  and  among  Leavitt  and  Pierce's  billiard- tables. 
When  the  great  tootball  games-  came  off  he  worked  himself 
into  a  frenzy  of  excitement  over  them  and  even  tried  to 
make  several  of  his  class  teams,  though  without  success. 

He  chummed  with  Charlie  Geary  and  with  young 
Dolliver  Haight,  the  two  San  Francisco  boys.  The  three 
were  continually  together.  They  took  the  same  courses, 
dined  at  the  same  table  in  Memorial  Hall  and  would  have 
shared  the  same  room  if  it  had  been  possible.  Vandover 
and  Charlie  Geary  were  fortunate  enough  to  get  a  room 
in  Matthew's  on  the  lower  floor  looking  out  upon  the 
Yard;  young  Haight  was  obliged  to  put  up  with  an  outside 
room  in  a  boarding  house. 

Vandover  had  grown  up  with  these  fellows  and  during 
all  his  life  was  thrown  in  their  company.  Haight  was  a 

17 


18  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

well-bred  young  boy  of  good  family,  very  quiet;  almost 
every  morning  he  went  to  Chapel.  He  was  always 
polite,  even  to  his  two  friends.  He  invariably  tried  to  be 
pleasant  and  agreeable  and  had  a  way  of  making  people 
like  him.  Otherwise,  his  character  was  not  strongly 
marked. 

Geary  was  quite  different.  He  never  could  forget  him 
self.  He  was  incessantly  talking  about  what  he  had 
done  or  was  going  to  do.  In  the  morning  he  would  in 
form  Vandover  of  how  many  hours  he  had  slept  and  of  the 
dreams  he  had  dreamed.  In  the  evening  he  would  tell 
him  everything  he  had  done  that  day;  the  things  he  had 
said,  how  many  lectures  he  had  cut,  what  brilliant  recita 
tions  he  had  made,  and  even  what  food  he  had  eaten  at 
Memorial.  He  was  pushing,  self-confident,  very  shrewd 
and  clever,  devoured  with  an  inordinate  ambition  and 
particularly  pleased  when  he  could  get  the  better  of  any 
body,  even  of  Vandover  or  of  young  Haight.  He  de 
lighted  to  assume  the  management  of  things.  Vandover, 
he  made  his  protege,  taking  over  the  charge  of  such  busi 
ness  as  the  two  had  in  common.  It  was  he  who  had 
found  the  room  in  Matthew's,  getting  it  away  from  all 
other  applicants,  securing  it  at  the  eleventh  hour.  He  put 
Vandover's  name  on  the  waiting  list  at  Memorial,  saw 
that  he  filled  out  his  blanks  at  the  proper  time,  helped 
him  balance  his  accounts,  guided  him  in  the  choice  of  his 
courses  and  in  the  making  out  of  his  study-card. 

"Look  here,  Charlie,"  Vandover  would  exclaim,  throw 
ing  down  the  Announcement  of  Courses,  "I  can't  make 
this  thing  out.  It's  all  in  a  tangle.  See  here,  I've  got  to 
fill  up  my  hours  some  way  or  other;  you  straighten  this 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  19 

thing  out  for  me.  Find  me  some  nice  little  course,  two 
hours  a  week,  say,  that  comes  late  in  the  morning,  a  good 
hour  after  breakfast;  something  easy,  all  lectures,  no  out 
side  reading,  nice  instructor  and  all  that."  And  Geary 
would  glance  over  the  complicated  schedule,  cleverly 
untangling  it  at  once  and  would  find  two  or  three  such 
courses  as  Vandover  desired. 

Vandover's  yielding  disposition  led  him  to  submit  to 
Geary's  dictatorship  and  he  thus  early  began  to  contract 
easy,  irresponsible  habits,  becoming  indolent,  shirking 
his  duty  whenever  he  could,  sure  that  Geary  would  think 
for  the  two  and  pull  him  out  of  any  difficulty  into  which 
he  might  drift. 

/Otherwise  the  three  freshmen  were  very  much  alike.; 
They  were  hardly  more  than  boys  and  full  of  boyish 
spirits  and  activity.  They  began  to  see  "college  life." 
Vandover  was  already  smoking;  pretty  soon  he  began  to 
drink.  He  affected  beer,  whisky  he  loathed,  and  such 
wine  as  was  not  too  expensive  was  either  too  sweet  or 
too  sour.  It  became  a  custom  for  the  three  to  go  into 
town  two  or  three  nights  in  the  week  and  have  beer  and 
Welsh  rabbits  at  Billy  Park's.  On  these  occasions,  how 
ever,  young  Haight  drank  only  beer,  he  never  touched 
wine  or  spirits. 

It  was  in  Billy  Park's  the  evening  after  the  football 
game  between  the  Yale  and  Harvard  freshmen  that  Van 
dover  was  drunk  for  the  first  time.  He  was  not  so  drunk 
but  that  he  knew  he  was,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  fact 
so  terrified  him  that  it  kept  him  from  getting  very  bad. 
The  first  sensation  soon  wore  off,  and  by  the  time  that 
Geary  took  charge  of  him  and  brought  him  back  to  Cam- 


20  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

bridge  he  was  disposed  to  treat  the  affair  less  seriously. 
Nevertheless  when  he  got  to  his  room  he  looked  at  him 
self  in  the  mirror  a  long  time,  saying  to  himself  over  and 
over  again,  "I'm  drunk  —  just  regularly  drunk.  Good 
Heavens!  what  would  the  governor  say  to  this?" 

In  the  morning  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  felt 
so  little  ashamed.  Geary  and  young  Haight  treated  the 
matter  as  a  huge  joke  and  told  him  of  certain  funny 
things  he  had  said  and  done  and  which  he  had  entirely 
forgotten.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  take  the  matter 
seriously  even  if  he  had  wished  to,  and  within  a  few  weeks 
he  was  drunk  again.  He  found  that  he  was  not  an  excep 
tion;  Geary  was  often  drunk  with  him,  fully  a  third  of  all 
the  Harvard  men  he  knew  were  intoxicated  at  different 
times.  It  was  out  of  the  question  for  Vandover  to  con 
sider  them  as  drunkards.  Certainly,  neither  he  nor  any 
of  the  others  drank  because  they  liked  the  beer;  after  the 
fifth  or  sixth  glass  it  was  all  they  could  do  to  force  down 
another.  Such  being  the  case,  Vandover  often  asked 
himself  why  he  got  drunk  at  all.  This  question  he  was 
never  able  to  answer. 

It  was  the  same  with  gambling.  At  first  the  idea  of 
playing  cards  for  money  shocked  him  beyond  all  expres 
sion.  But  soon  he  found  that  a  great  many  of  the  fellows, 
fellows  like  young  Haight,  beyond  question  steady,  sen 
sible  and  even  worthy  of  emulation  in  other  ways,  "went 
in  for  that  sort  of  thing."  Every  now  and  then  Vandover's 
"crowd"  got  together  in  his  room  in  Matthew's,  and 
played  Van  John  "for  keeps,"  as  they  said,  until  far  into 
the  night.  Vandover  joined  them.  The  stakes  were 
small,  he  lost  as  often  as  he  won,  but  the  habit  of  the  cards 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  21 

never  grew  upon  him.  It  was  like  the  beer,  he  "went  in 
for  it"  because  the  others  did,  without  knowing  why. 
Geary,  however,  drew  his  line  at  gambling;  he  never  talked 
against  it  or  tried  to  influence  Vandover,  but  he  never 
could  be  induced  to  play  "for  keeps"  himself. 

One  very  warm  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  first  days  of 
April,  when  the  last  snows  were  melting,  Vandover  and 
Geary  were  in  their  room,  sitting  at  opposite  ends  of  their 
window-seat, Geary  translating  his  Monday's  "Horace"  by 
the  help  of  a  Bonn's  translation,  Vandover  making  a 
pen  and  ink  drawing  for  the  next  Lampoon.  A  couple  of 
young  women  passed  down  the  walk,  going  across  the 
Yard  toward  the  Square.  They  were  cheaply  and  show 
ily  dressed.  One  of  them  wore  a  mannish  shirtwaist, 
with  a  high  collar  and  scarf.  The  other  had  taken  off  her 
gloves  and  was  swinging  a  bright  red  cape  in  one  of  her 
bare  hands.  As  the  couple  passed  they  stared  calmly  at 
the  two  young  fellows  in  the  window;  Vandover  lowered 
his  eyes  over  his  work,  blushing,  he  could  not  tell  why. 
Geary  stared  back  at  them,  following  them  with  his  eyes 
until  they  had  gone  by. 

All  at  once  he  began  laughing  and  pounding  on  the 
window. 

"Oh,  for  goodness  sake,  quit!"  exclaimed  Vandover  in 
great  alarm,  twisting  off  the  window-seat  and  shrinking 
back  out  of  sight  into  the  room.  "Quit,  Charlie;  you 
don't  want  to  insult  a  girl  that  way."  Geary  looked  at 
him  over  his  shoulder  in  some  surprise,  and  was  about 
to  answer  when  he  turned  to  the  window  again  and  ex 
claimed,  grinning  and  waving  his  hand: 

"Oh,  just  come  here,  Skinny;  get  on  to  this,  will  you? 


22  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Ah,  come  here  and  look,  you  old  chump!  Do  you  think 
they're  nice  girls?  Just  take  a  look  at  them."  Vandover 
peered  timidly  around  Geary's  head  and  saw  that  the 
two  girls  were  looking  back  and  laughing,  and  that  the 
one  with  the  red  cape  was  waving  it  at  them. 

At  supper  that  night  they  saw  the  girls  in  the  gallery 
of  Memorial.  They  pointed  them  out  to  young  Haight, 
and  Geary  at  length  managed  to  attract  their  attention. 
After  supper  the  three  freshmen,  together  with  two  of 
their  sophomore  acquaintances,  strolled  slowly  over 
toward  the  Yard,  lighting  their  pipes  and  cigarettes. 
All  at  once,  as  they  turned  into  the  lower  gate,  they  came 
full  upon  the  same  pair  of  girls.  They  were  walking  fast, 
talking  and  laughing  very  loudly. 

"Track!"  called  out  one  of  the  sophomores,  and  the 
group  of  young  fellows  parted  to  let  them  pass.  The 
sophomore  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  regret,  "Don't  be  in 
such  a  hurry,  girls."  Vandover  became  scarlet  and 
turned  his  face  away,  but  the  girls  looked  back  and  laughed 
good-naturedly.  "Come  on,"  said  the  sophomore.  The 
group  closed  around  the  girls  and  brought  them  to  a 
standstill;  they  were  not  in  the  least  embarrassed  at  this, 
but  laughed  more  than  ever.  Neither  of  them  was  pretty, 
but  there  was  a  certain  attraction  about  them  that 
pleased  Vandover  immensely.  He  was  very  excited. 

Then  there  was  a  very  embarrassing  pause.  No  one 
knew  what  to  say.  Geary  alone  regained  his  assurance 
at  length,  and  began  a  lively  interchange  of  chaff  with 
one  of  them.  The  others  could  only  stand  about  and 
smile. 

"Well"  cried  the  other  girl  after  a  while,  "I  ain't  going 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  23 

to  stand  here  in  the  snow  all  night.  Let's  take  a  walk; 
come  along.  I  choose  you."  Before  Vandover  knew  it 
she  had  taken  his  arm.  The  sophomore  managed  in  some 
way  to  pair  off  with  the  other  girl;  Haight  had  already 
left  the  group;  the  two  couples  started  off,  while  Geary 
and  the  other  sophomore  who  were  left  out  followed 
awkwardly  in  the  rear  for  a  little  way  and  then  disap 
peared. 

Vandover  was  so  excited  that  he  could  scarcely  speak. 
This  was  a  new  experience.  At  first  it  attracted  him,  but 
the  hopeless  vulgarity  of  the  girl  at  his  side,  her  tawdry 
clothes,  her  sordid,  petty  talk,  her  slang,  her  miserable 
profanity,  soon  began  to  revolt  him.  He  felt  that  he 
could  not  keep  his  self-respect  while  such  a  girl  hung  upon 
his  arm. 

"Say,"  said  the  girl  at  length,  "didn't  I  see  you  in  town 
the  other  afternoon  on  Washington  Street?  " 

"Maybe  you  did,"  answered  Vandover,  trying  to  be 
polite.  "  I'm  down  there  pretty  often." 

"Well,  I  guess  yes,"  she  answered.  "You  Harvard 
sports  make  a  regular  promenade  out  o'  Washington 
Street  Saturday  afternoons.  I  suppose  I've  seen  you 
down  there  pretty  often,  but  didn't  notice.  Do  you  stand 
or  walk?" 

Vandover's  gorge  rose  with  disgust.  He  stopped 
abruptly  and  pulled  away  from  the  girl.  Not  only  did 
she  disgust  him,  but  he  felt  sorry  for  her;  he  felt  ashamed 
and  pitiful  for  a  woman  who  had  fallen  so  low.  Still  he 
tried  to  be  polite  to  her;  he  did  not  know  how  to  be  rude 
with  any  kind  of  woman. 

"You'  11  have  to  excuse  me,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  hat.. 


24  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

•*  I  don't  believe  I  can  take  a  walk  with  you  to-night.  I  — 
you  see  —  I've  got  a  good  deal  of  work  to  do;  I  think  I'll 
have  to  leave  you."  Then  he  bowed  to  her  with  his  hat 
in  his  hand,  hurrying  away  t  ef ore  she  could  answer  him  a 
word. 

He  found  Geary  alone  in  their  room,  cribbing  "Horace" 
again. 

"Ah,  you  bet,"  Geary  said.  "I  shook  those  chippies. 
I  sized  them  up  right  away.  I  was  clever  enough  for  that. 
They  were  no  good.  I  thought  you  would  get  enough  of 
it." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Vandover  after  a  while,  as  he 
settled  to  his  drawing.  "She  was  pretty  common,  but 
anyhow  I  don't  want  to  help  bring  down  a  poor  girl  like 
that  any  lower  than  she  is  already."  This  saying  struck 
Vandover  as  being  very  good  and  noble,  and  he  found 
occasion  to  repeat  it  to  young  Haight  the  next  day. 

But  within  three  days  of  this,  at  the  time  when  Van 
dover  would  have  fancied  himself  farthest  from  such  a 
thing,  he  underwent  a  curious  reaction.  On  a  certain 
evening,  moved  by  an  unreasoned  instinct,  he  sought  out 
the  girl  who  had  just  filled  him  with  such  deep  pity  and 
such  violent  disgust,  and  that  night  did  not  come  back 
to  the  room  in  Matthew's.  The  thing  was  done  almost 
before  he  knew  it.  He  could  not  tell  why  he  had  acted 
as  he  did,  and  he  certainly  would  not  have  believed  him 
self  capable  of  it. 

He  passed  the  next  few  days  in  a  veritable  agony  of  re 
pentance,  overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of  shame  and  dishonour 
that  were  almost  feminine  in  their  bitterness  and  intensity. 
He  felt  himself  lost,  unworthy,  and  as  if  he  could  never 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  25 

again  look  a  pure  woman  in  the  eyes  unless  with  an  abom 
inable  hypocrisy.  He  was  ashamed  even  before  Geary 
and  young  Haight,  and  went  so  far  as  to  send  a  long  letter 
to  his  father  acknowledging  and  deploring  what  he  had 
done,  asking  for  his  forgiveness  and  reiterating  his  resolve 
to  shun  such  a  thing  forever  after. 

What  had  been  bashfulness  in  the  boy  developed  in  the 
young  man  to  a  profound  respect  and  an  instinctive  regard 
for  women.  This  stood  him  in  good  stead  throughout 
all  his  four  years  of  Harvard  life.  In  general,  he  kept 
himself  pretty  straight.  There  were  plenty  of  fast  girls 
and  lost  women  about  Cambridge,  but  Vandover  found 
that  he  could  not  associate  with  them  to  any  degree  of 
satisfaction.  He  never  knew  how  to  take  them,  never 
could  rid  himself  of  the  idea  that  they  were  to  be  treated 
as  ladies.  They,  on  their  part,  did  not  like  him;  he  was 
too  diffident,  too  courteous,  too  "slow."  They  preferred 
the  rough  self-assertion  and  easy  confidence  of  Geary, 
who  never  took  "no"  as  an  answer  and  who  could  chaff 
with  them  on  their  own  ground. 

Vandover  did  poor  work  at  Harvard  and  only  graduated, 
as  Geary  said,  "by  a  squeak."  Besides  his  regular  studies 
he  took  time  to  pass  three  afternoons  a  week  in  the  studio 
of  a  Boston  artist,  where  he  studied  anatomy  and  com 
position  and  drew  figures  from  the  nude.  ^In  the  summer 
vacations  he  did  not  return  home,  but  accompanied  this 
artist  on  sketching  tours  along  the  coast  of  Maine.  His 
style  improved  immensely  the  moment  he  abandoned  flat 
studies  and  began  to  work  directly  from  Nature, 'He 
drew  figures  well,  showed  a  feeling  for  desolate  landscapes, 
and  even  gave  promise  of  a  good  eye  for  colour.  But  he 


26  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

allowed  his  fondness  for  art  to  interfere  constantly  with 
his  college  work.  By  the  middle  of  his  senior  year  he  was 
so  loaded  with  conditions  that  it  was  only  Geary's  un 
wearied  coaching  that  pulled  him  through  at  all  —  as 
Vandover  knew  it  would,  for  that  matter. 

Vandover  returned  to  San  Francisco  when  he  was  twenty- 
two.  It  was  astonishing;  he  had  gone  away  a  pimply, 
overgrown  boy,  raw  and  callow  as  a  fledgling,  constrained 
in  society,  diffident,  awkward.  Now  he  returned,  a  tall, 
well-formed  Harvardian,  as  careful  as  a  woman  in  the 
matter  of  dress,  very  refined  in  his  manners.  Besides,  he 
was  a  delightful  conversationalist.  His  father  was  re- 
j  oiced ;  every  one  declared  he  was  a  charming  fellow. 

They  were  right.  Vandover  was  at  his  best  at  this  time ; 
it  was  undeniable  that  he  had  great  talent,  but  he  was 
so  modest  about  it  that  few  knew  how  clever  he  really 
was. 

He  went  out  to  dinners  and  receptions  and  began  to 
move  a  little  in  society.  He  became  very  popular:  the 
men  liked  him  because  he  was  so  unaffected,  so  straight 
forward,  and  the  women  because  he  was  so  respectful 
and  so  deferential. 

He  had  no  vices.  He  had  gone  through  the  ordeal  of 
college  life  and  had  come  out  without  contracting  any 
habit  more  serious  than  a  vague  distaste  for  responsibility, 
and  an  inclination  to  shirk  disagreeable  duties.  Cards 
he  never  thought  of.  It  was  rare  that  he  drank  so  much 
as  a  glass  of  beer. 

However,  he  had  come  back  to  a  great  disappointment. 
Business  in  San  Francisco  had  entered  upon  a  long  period 
of  decline,  and  values  were  decreasing;  for  ten  years  rents 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  27 

had  been  sagging  lower  and  lower.  At  the  same  time 
the  interest  on  loans  and  insurances  had  increased,  and 
real  estate  was  brought  to  a  standstill;  one  spoke  bitterly 
of  a  certain  great  monopoly  that  was  ruining  both  the  city 
and  state.  Vandover's  father  had  suffered  with  the  rest, 
and  now  told  his  son  that  he  could  not  at  this  time  afford 
to  send  him  to  Paris.  He  would  have  to  wait  for  better 
times. 

At  first  this  was  a  sharp  grief  to  Vandover;  for  years  he 
had  looked  forward  to  an  artist's  life  in  the  Quarter.  For 
a  time  he  was  inconsolable,  then  at  length  readjusted 
himself  good-naturedly  to  suit  the  new  order  of  things 
with  as  little  compunction  as  before,  when  he  had  entered 
Harvard.  He  found  that  he  could  be  contented  in  almost 
any  environment,  the  weakness,  the  certain  pliability  of 
his  character  easily  fitting  itself  into  new  grooves,  reshaping 
itself  to  suit  new  circumstances.  He  prevailed  upon  his 
father  to  allow  him  to  have  a  downtown  studio.  In  a 
little  while  he  was  perfectly  happy  again. 

Vandover's  love  for  his  art  was  keen.  On  the  whole  he 
kept  pretty  steadily  to  his  work,  spending  a  good  six  hours 
at  his  easel  every  day,  very  absorbed  over  the  picture  in 
hand.  He  was  working  up  into  large  canvases  the  sketches 
he  had  made  along  the  Maine  coast,  great,  empty  ex 
panses  of  sea,  sky,  and  sand-dune,  full  of  wind  and  sun. 
They  were  really  admirable.  He  even  sold  one  of  them. 
The  Old  Gentleman  was  delighted,  signed  him  a  check 
for  twenty  dollars,  and  told  him  that  in  three  years  he 
could  afford  to  send  him  abroad. 

In  the  meanwhile  Vandover  set  himself  to  enjoy  the 
new  life.  Little  by  little  his  "set"  formed  around  him; 


28  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Geary  and  young  Haight,  of  course,  and  some  half  dozen 
young  men  of  the  city:  young  lawyers,  medical  students, 
and  clerks  in  insurance  offices.  As  Vandover  thus  began 
to  see  the  different  phases  of  that  life  which  lay  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  college,  he  perceived  more  and  more 
clearly  that  he  was  an  exception  among  men  for  his  tem 
perance,  his  purity,  and  his  clean  living. 

At  their  clubs  and  in  their  smoking-rooms  he  heard 
certain  practices,  which  he  had  always  believed  to  be 
degrading  and  abominable,  discussed  with  shouts  of 
laughter.  Those  matters  which  until  now  he  had  re 
garded  with  an  almost  sacred  veneration  were  subjects 
for  immense  jokes.  A  few  years  ago  he  would  have  been 
horrified  at  it  all,  but  the  fine  quality  of  this  first  sensi 
tiveness  had  been  blunted  since  his  experience  at  college. 
He  tolerated  these  things  in  his  friends  now. 

Gradually  Vandover  allowed  his  ideas  and  tastes  to  be 
moulded  by  this  new  order  of  things.  He  assumed  the 
manners  of  these  young  men  of  the  city,  very  curious  to 
see  for  himself  the  other  lower  side  of  their  life  that  began 
after  midnight  in  the  private  rooms  of  fast  cafes  and  that 
was  continued  in  the  heavy  musk-laden  air  of  certain 
parlours  amid  the  rustle  of  heavy  silks. 

Slowly  the  fascination  of  this  thing  grew  upon  him  until 
it  mounted  to  a  veritable  passion.  His  strong  artist's 
imagination  began  to  be  filled  with  a  world  of  charming 
sensuous  pictures. 

He  commenced  to  chafe  under  his  innate  respect  and 
deference  for  women,  to  resent  and  to  despise  it.  As  the 
desire  of  vice,  the  blind,  reckless  desire  of  the  male,  grew 
upon  him,  he  set  himself  to  destroy  this  barrier  that  had 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  29 

so  long  stood  in  his  way.  He  knew  that  it  was  the  wilful 
and  deliberate  corruption  of  part  of  that  which  was  best 
in  him;  he  was  sorry  for  it,  but  persevered,  nevertheless, 
ashamed  of  his  old-time  timidity,  his  ignorance,  his  boyish 
purity. 

For  a  second  time  the  animal  in  him,  the  perverse  evil 
brute,  awoke  and  stirred.  The  idea  of  resistance  hardly 
occurred  to  Vandover;  it  would  be  hard,  it  would  be  dis 
agreeable  to  resist,  and  Vandover  had  not  accustomed 
himself  to  the  performance  of  hard,  disagreeable  duties. 
They  were  among  the  unpleasant  things  that  he  shirked. 
He  told  himself  that  later  on,  when  he  had  grown  older 
and  steadier  and  had  profited  by  experience  and  knowledge 
of  the  world,  when  he  was  stronger,  in  a  word,  he  would 
curb  the  thing  and  restrain  it.  He  saw  no  danger  in  such 
a  course.  It  was  what  other  men  did  with  impunity. 

In  company  with  Geary  and  young  Haight  he  had 
come  to  frequent  a  certain  one  of  the  fast  cafes  of  the  city. 
Here  he  met  and  became  acquainted  with  a  girl  called 
Flossie.  It  was  the  opportunity  for  which  he  was  waiting, 
and  he  seized  it  at  once. 

This  time  there  was  no  recoil  of  conscience,  no  shame, 
no  remorse;  he  even  felt  a  better  estimation  of  himself, 
that  self-respect  that  comes  with  wider  experiences  and 
with  larger  views  of  life.  He  told  himself  that  all  men 
should  at  one  time  see  certain  phases  of  the  world;  it 
rounded  out  one's  life.  After  all,  one  had  to  be  a  man  of 
the  world.  Those  men  only  were  perverted  who  allowed 
themselves  to  be  corrupted  by  such  vice. 

Thus  it  was  that  Vandover,  by  degrees,  drifted  into  the 
life  of  a  certain  class  of  the  young  men  of  the  city.  Vice 


SO  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

had  no  hold  on  him.  The  brute  had  grown  larger  in  him, 
but  he  knew  that  he  had  the  creature  in  hand.  He  was 
its  master,  and  only  on  rare  occasions  did  he  permit  him 
self  to  gratify  its  demands,  feeding  its  abominable  hunger 
from  that  part  of  him  which  he  knew  to  be  the  purest,  the 
cleanest,  and  the  best. 

Three  years  passed  in  this  fashion. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

VANDOVER  had  decided  at  lunch  that  day  that  he  would 
not  go  back  to  work  at  his  studio  in  the  afternoon,  but 
would  stay  at  home  instead  and  read  a  very  interesting 
story  about  two  men  who  had  bought  a  wrecked  opium 
ship  for  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  had  afterward  dis-  j 
covered  that  she  contained  only  a  few  tins  of  the  drug. 
He  was  curious  to  see  how  it  turned  out;  the  studio  was  a 
long  way  downtown,  the  day  was  a  little  cold,  and  he  felt 
that  he  would  enjoy  a  little  relaxation.  Anyhow,  he 
meant  to  stay  at  home  and  put  in  the  whole  afternoon  on 
a  good  novel. 

But  even  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  this  he 
did  not  immediately  get  out  his  book  anoT  settle  down  to  it. 
After  lunch  he  loitered  about  the  house  while  his  meal 
digested,  feeling  very  comfortable  and  contented.  He 
strummed  his  banjo  a  little  and  played  over  upon  the 
piano  the  three  pieces  he  had  picked  up:  two  were  polkas, 
and  the  third,  the  air  of  a  topical  song;  he  always  played 
the  three  together  and  in  the  same  sequence.  Then  he 
strolled  up  to  his  room,  and  brushed  his  hair  for  a  while, 
trying  to  make  it  lie  very  flat  and  smooth.  After  this  he 
went  out  to  look  at  Mr.  Corkle,  the  terrier,  and  let  him 
run  a  bit  in  the  garden;  then  he  felt  as  though  he  must 
have  a  smoke,  and  so  went  back  to  his  room  and  filled 
his  pipe.  When  it  was  going  well,  he  took  down  his  book 

31 


32  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

and  threw  himself  into  a  deep  leather  chair,  only  to  jump 
up  again  to  put  on  his  smoking- jacket.  All  at  once  he 
became  convinced  that  he  must  have  something  to  eat 
while  he  read,  and  so  went  to  the  kitchen  and  got  himself 
some  apples  and  a  huge  slice  of  fresh  bread.  Ever  since 
Vandover  was  a  little  boy  he  had  loved  fresh  bread  and 
apples.  /  Through  the  windows  of  the  dining-room  he  saw 
Mr.  CbHde  digging  up  great  holes  in  the  geranium  beds. 
He  went  out  and  abused  him  and  finally  let  him  come 
back  into  the  house  and  took  him  upstairs  with  him. 

Then  at  last  he  settled  down  to  his  novel,  in  the  very 
comfortable  leather  chair,  before  a  little  fire,  for  the  last 
half  of  August  is  cold  in  San  Francisco.  The  room  was 
warm  and  snug,  the  fresh  bread  and  apples  were  delicious, 
the  good  tobacco  in  his  pipe  purred  like  a  sleeping  kitten, 
and  his  novel  was  interesting  and  well  written.  He  felt 
calm  and  soothed  and  perfectly  content,  and  took  in  the 
pleasure  of  the  occasion  with  the  lazy  complacency  of  a 
drowsing  cat. 

Vandover  was  self-indulgent  —  he  loved  these  sensuous 
pleasures,  he  loved  to  eat  good  things,  he  loved  to  be  warm, 
he  loved  to  sleep.  He  hated  to  be  bored  and  worried  — • 
he  liked  to  have  a  good  time. 

At  about  half-past  four  o'clock  he  came  to  a  good 
stopping-place  in  his  book;  the  two  men  had  got  to  quarrel 
ling,  and  his  interest  flagged  a  little.  He  pushed  Mr. 
Corkle  off  his  lap  and  got  up  yawning  and  went  to  the 
window. 

Vandover's  home  was  on  California  Street  not  far  from 
Franklin.  It  was  a  large  frame  house  of  two  stories;  all 
the  windows  in  the  front  were  bay.  The  front  door  was 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  33 

directly  in  the  middle  between  the  windows  of  the  parlour 
and  those  of  the  library,  while  over  the  vestibule  was  a 
sort  of  balcony  that  no  one  ever  thought  of  using.  The 
house  was  set  in  a  large  well-kept  yard.  The  lawn  was 
pretty;  an  enormous  eucalyptus  tree  grew  at  one  corner. 
Nearer  to  the  house  were  magnolia  and  banana  trees 
growing  side  by  side  with  pines  and  firs.  Humming-birds 
built  in  these,  and  one  could  hear  their  curious  little  war 
bling  mingling  with  the  hoarse  chirp  of  the  English  spar 
rows  which  nested  under  the  eaves.  The  back  yard  was 
separated  from  the  lawn  by  a  high  fence  of  green  lattice 
work.  The  hens  and  chickens  were  kept  here  and  two 
roosters,  one  of  which  crowed  every  time  a  cable-car 
passed  the  house.  On  the  door  cut  through  the  lattice- 
fence  was  a  sign,  "Look  Out  for  the  Dog."  Close  to  the 
unused  barn  stood  an  immense  windmill  with  enormous 
arms;  when  the  wind  blew  in  the  afternoon  the  sails 
whirled  about  at  a  surprising  speed,  pumping  up  water 
from  the  artesian  well  sunk  beneath.  There  was  a  small 
conservatory  where  the  orchids  were  kept.  Altogether, 
it  was  a  charming  place.  However,  adjoining  it  was 
a  huge  vacant  lot  with  cows  in  it.  It  was  full  of  dry 
weeds  and  heaps  of  ashes,  while  around  it  was  an  enor 
mous  fence  painted  with  signs  of  cigars,  patent  bitters,  and 
soap. 

Vandover  stood  at  a  front  window  and  looked  out  on  a 
rather  dreary  prospect.  The  inevitable  afternoon  trades 
had  been  blowing  hard  since  three,  strong  and  brisk  from 
the  ocean,  driving  hard  through  the  Golden  Gate  and 
filling  the  city  with  a  taint  of  salt.  Now  the  fog  was  com 
ing  in;  Vandover  could  see  great  patches  of  it  sweeping 


34  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

along  between  him  and  the  opposite  houses.  All  the 
eucalyptus  trees  were  dripping,  and  occasionally  there 
came  the  faint  moan  of  the  fog-horn  out  at  the  heads.  He 
could  see  up  the  street  for  nearly  two  miles  as  it  climbed 
over  Nob  Hill.  It  was  almost  deserted;  a  cable-car  now 
and  then  crawled  up  and  down  its  length,  and  at  times  a 
delivery  wagon  rattled  across  it;  but  that  was  about  all. 
On  the  opposite  sidewalk  two  boys  and  a  girl  were  coasting 
downhill  on  their  roller-skates  and  their  brake- wagons. 
The  cable  in  its  slot  kept  up  an  incessant  burr  and  clack. 
The  whole  view  was  rather  forlorn,  and  Vandover  turned 
his  back  on  it,  taking  up  his  book  again. 

About  five  o'clock  his  father  came  home  from  his  office. 
"Hello!"  said  he,  looking  into  the  room;  "aren't  you  home 
a  little  early  to-day?  Ah,  I  thought  you  weren't  going 
to  bring  that  dog  into  the  house  any  more.  I  wish  you 
wouldn't,  son;  he  gets  hair  and  fleas  about  everywhere." 

"All  right,  governor  "  answered  Vandover.  "I'll  take 
him  out.  Come  along,  Cork." 

"But  aren't  you  home  earlier  than  usual  to-day?"  per 
sisted  his  father  as  Vandover  got  up. 

"Yes,"  said  Vandover,  "I  guess  I  am,  a  little." 

After  supper  the  same  evening  when  Vandover  came 
downstairs,  drawing  on  his  gloves,  his  father  looked  over 
his  paper,  saying  pleasantly : 

"  Well,  where  are  you  going  to-night?  " 

"I'm  going  to  see  my  girl,  '  said  Vandover,  smiling;  then 
foreseeing  the  usual  question,  he  added,  "I'll  be  home 
about  eleven,  I  guess." 

"Got  your  latch-key?"  asked  the  Old  Gentleman,  as  he 
always  did  when  Vandover  went  out. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  35 

"Yep,"  called  back  Vandover  as  he  opened  the  door. 
"  I'll  not  forget  it  again.  Good-night,  governor." 

Vandover  used  to  call  on  Turner  Ravis  about  twice  a 
week;  people  said  they  were  engaged.  This  was  not  so. 

Vandover  had  met  Miss  Ravis  some  two  years  before. 
For  a  time  the  two  had  been  sincerely  in  love  with  each 
other,  and  though  there  was  never  any  talk  of  marriage 
between  them,  they  seemed  to  have  some  sort  of  tacit 
understanding.  But  by  this  time  Vandover  had  somehow 
outgrown  the  idea  of  marrying  Turner.  He  still  kept 
up  the  fiction,  persuaded  that  Turner  must  understand 
the  way  things  had  come  to  be.  However,  he  was  still 
very  fond  of  her;  she  was  a  frank,  sweet-tempered  girl 
and  very  pretty,  and  it  was  delightful  to  have  her  care 
for  him. 

Vandover  could  not  shut  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  young 
Haight  was  very  seriously  in  love  with  Turner.  But  he 
was  sure  that  Turner  preferred  him  to  his  chum.  She 
was  too  sincere,  too  frank,  too  conscientious  to  practise 
any  deception  on  him. 

There  was  quite  a  party  at  the  Ravises'  house  that  even 
ing  when  Vandover  arrived.  Young  Haight  was  there,  of 
course,  and  Charlie  Geary.  Besides  Turner  herself  there 
was  Henrietta  Vance,  a  stout,  pretty  girl,  with  pop  eyes 
and  a  little  nose,  who  laughed  all  the  time  and  who  was 
very  popular.  These  were  all  part  of  Vandover 's  set; 
they  called  each  other  by  their  first  names  and  went 
everywhere  together.  Almost  every  Saturday  evening 
they  got  together  at  Turner's  house  and  played  whist, 
or  euchre,  or  sometimes  even  poker.  "Just  for  love,"  as 
Turner  said. 


36  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

When  Vandover  came  in  they  were  all  talking  at  the 
same  time,  disputing  about  a  little  earthquake  that  had 
occurred  the  night  before.  Henrietta  Vance  declared 
that  it  had  happened  early  in  the  morning. 

"  Wasn't  it  just  about  midnight,  Van?  "  cried  Turner. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Vandover.  "It  didn't  wake 
me  up.  I  didn't  even  know  there  was  one." 

"Well,  I  know  I  heard  our  clock  strike  two  just  about 
half  an  hour  afterward,"  protested  young  Haight. 

"Oh,  it  was  almost  five  o'clock  when  it  came,"  cried 
Henrietta  Vance. 

"Well,  now,  you're  all  off,"  said  Charlie  Geary.  "I 
know  just  when  she  quaked  to  the  fraction  of  a  minute, 
because  it  stopped  our  hall  clock  at  just  a  little  after 
three." 

They  were  silent.  It  was  an  argument  which  was  hard 
to  contradict.  By  and  by,  young  Haight  declared,  "  There 
must  have  been  two  of  them  then,  because " 

"How  about  whist  or  euchre  or  whatever  it  is  to  be?" 
said  Charlie  Geary,  addressing  Turner  and  interrupting 
in  an  annoying  way  that  was  peculiar  to  him.  "Can't 
we  start  in  now  that  Van  has  come?  "  They  played  euchre 
for  a  while,  but  Geary  did  not  like  the  game,  and  by  and 
by  suggested  poker. 

"Well  — if  it's  only  just  for  love,"  said  Turner,  "be 
cause,  you  know,  mamma  doesn't  like  it  any  other  way." 

At  ten  o'clock  Geary  said,  "Let's  quit  after  this  hand 
round  —  what  do  you  say?"  The  rest  were  willing  and 
so  they  all  took  account  of  their  chips  after  the  next  deal. 
Geary  was  protesting  against  his  poor  luck.  Honestly 
he  hadn't  held  better  than  three  tens  more  than  twice 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  37 

during  the  evening.  It  was  Henrietta  Vance  who  took 
in  everything;  did  one  ever  see  anything  to  beat  her  luck? 
"  the  funniest  thing ! " 

They  began  to  do  tricks  with  the  cards.  Young  Haight 
showed  them  a  very  good  trick  by  which  he  could  make  the 
pack  break  every  time  at  the  ace  of  clubs.  Vandover 
exclaimed:  "Lend  me  a  silk  hat  and  ninety  dollars  and 
I'll  show  you  the  queerest  trick  you  ever  saw,"  which  sent 
Henrietta  Vance  off  into  shrieks  of  laughter.  Then  Geary 
took  the  cards  out  of  young  Haight's  hands,  asking  them 
if  they  knew  this  trick. 

Turner  said  yes,  she  knew  it,  but  the  others  did  not, 
and  Geary  showed  it  to  them.  It  was  interminable. 
Henrietta  Vance  chose  a  card  and  put  it  back  into  the 
deck.  Then  the  deck  was  shuffled  and  divided  into  three 
piles.  After  this  Geary  made  a  mental  calculation,  se 
lected  one  of  these  piles,  shuffled  it,  and  gave  it  back  to 
her,  asking  her  if  she  saw  her  card  in  it;  then  more  shuffling 
and  dividing  until  their  interest  and  patience  were  quite 
exhausted.  When  Geary  finally  produced  a  jack  of 
hearts  and  demanded  triumphantly  if  that  was  her  card, 
Henrietta  began  to  laugh  and  declared  she  had  forgotten 
what  card  she  chose.  Geary  said  he  would  do  the  trick 
all  over  for  her.  At  this,  however,  they  all  cried  out,  and 
he  had  to  give  it  up,  very  irritated  at  Henrietta's  stupidity. 

Vexed  at  the  ill  success  of  this  first  trick,  he  retired  a 
little  from  their  conversation,  puzzling  over  the  cards, 
thinking  out  new  tricks.  Every  now  and  then  he  came 
back  among  them,  going  about  from  one  to  another,  hold 
ing  out  the  deck  and  exclaiming,  "Choose  any  card 
—  choose  any  card." 


38  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

After  a  while  they  all  adjourned  to  the  dining-room  and 
Turner  and  Vandover  went  out  into  the  kitchen,  foraging 
among  the  drawers  and  shelves.  They  came  back  bring 
ing  with  them  a  box  of  sardines,  a  tin  of  pate,  three  quart 
bottles  of  blue-ribbon  beer,  and  what  Vandover  called 
"devilish-ham"  sandwiches. 

"Now  do  we  want  tamales  to  go  with  these?"  said 
Turner,  as  she  spread  the  lunch  on  the  table.  Henrietta 
Vance  cried  out  joyfully  at  this,  and  young  Haight  volun 
teered  to  go  out  to  get  them.  "Get  six,"  Turner  cried 
out  after  him.  "Henrietta  can  always  eat  two.  Hurry 
up,  and  we  won't  eat  till  you  get  back." 

While  he  was  gone  Turner  got  out  some  half-dozen 
glasses  for  their  beer.  "Do  you  know,"  she  said  as  she 
set  the  glasses  on  the  table,  "the  funniest  thing  happened 
this  morning  to  mamma.  It  was  at  breakfast;  she  had 
just  drunk  a  glass  of  water  and  was  holding  the  glass  in 
her  hand  like  this"  —  Turner  took  one  of  the  thin  beer 
glasses  in  her  hand  to  show  them  how  —  "and  was  talking 
to  pa,  when  all  at  once  the  glass  broke  right  straight  around 

a  ring,  just  below  the  brim,  you  know,  and  fell  all " 

On  a  sudden  Turner  uttered  a  shrill  exclamation;  the 
others  started  up;  the  very  glass  she  held  in  her  hand  at 
the  moment  cracked  and  broke  in  precisely  the  manner 
she  was  describing.  A  narrow  ring  snapped  from  the 
top,  dropping  on  the  floor,  breaking  into  a  hundred  bits. 

Turner  drew  in  a  long  breath,  open-mouthed,  her  hand 
in  the  air  still  holding  the  body  of  the  glass  that  remained 
in  her  fingers.  They  all  began  to  exclaim  over  the  won 
der. 

"Well,  did  you  ever  in  all  your  life?"  shouted  Miss 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  39 

Vance,  breaking  into  a  peal  of  laughter.  Geary  cried 
out,  "Caesar's  ghost!"  and  Vandover  swore  under  his 
breath. 

"If  that  isn't  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  saw!"  cried 
Turner.  "  Isn't  that  funny  —  why  —  oh !  I'm  going  to 
try  it  with  another  glass!"  But  the  second  glass  remained 
intact.  Geary  recovered  from  his  surprise  and  tried  to 
explain  how  it  could  happen. 

"It  was  the  heat  from  your  fingers  and  the  glass  was 
cold,  you  know,"  he  said  again  and  again. 

But  the  strangeness  of  the  thing  still  held  them.  Tur 
ner  set  down  the  glass  with  the  others  and  dropped  into  a 
chair,  letting  her  hands  fall  in  her  lap,  looking  into  their 
faces,  nodding  her  head  and  shutting  her  lips : 

"Ah,  no"  she  said  after  a  while.  "That  is  funny.  It 
kind  of  scares  one."  She  was  actually  pale. 

"Oh,  there's  Dolly  Haight!"  cried  Henrietta  Vance  as 
the  door  bell  rang.  They  all  rushed  to  the  door,  running 
and  scrambling,  eager  to  tell  the  news.  Young  Haight 
stood  bewildered  on  the  door  mat  in  the  vestibule,  his 
arms  full  of  brown-paper  packages,  while  they  recounted 
the  marvel.  They  all  spoke  at  once,  holding  imaginary 
beer  glasses  toward  him  in  their  outstretched  hands. 
Geary,  however,  refused  to  be  carried  away  by  their  ex 
citement,  and  one  heard  him  from  time  to  time  repeating, 
between  their  ejaculations,  "It  was  the  heat  from  her 
fingers,  you  know,  and  the  glass  was  cold." 

Young  Haight  was  confused,  incredulous;  he  could  not 
at  first  make  out  what  had  happened. 

"Well,  just  come  and  look  at  the  broken  glass  on  the 
floor"  shouted  Turner  decisively,  dragging  him  into  the 


40  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

dining-room.  They  waited,  breathless,  to  hear  what  he 
would  say.  He  looked  at  the  broken  glass  and  then  into 
their  faces.  Then  he  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"Ah,  you're  joking  me." 

"No,  honestly,"  protested  Vandover,  "that  was  just 
the  way  it  happened." 

It  was  some  little  time  before  they  could  get  over  their 
impression  of  queerness,  but  by  and  by  Geary  cried  out 
that  the  tamales  were  getting  cold.  They  settled  down  to 
their  lunch,  and  the  first  thing  young  Haight  did  was  to 
cut  his  lip  on  the  edge  of  the  broken  glass.  Turner  had 
set  it  down  with  the  others  and  he  had  inadvertently  filled 
it  for  himself. 

It  was  a  trifling  cut.  Turner  fetched  some  court-plaster, 
and  his  lip  was  patched  up.  For  all  that,  it  bled  quite  a 
little.  He  was  very  embarrassed;  he  kept  his  handker 
chief  to  his  mouth  and  told  them  repeatedly  to  go  on  with 
their  lunch  and  not  to  mind  him. 

As  soon  as  they  were  eating  and  drinking  they  began 
to  be  very  jolly,  and  Vandover  was  especially  good- 
humoured  and  entertaining.  He  made  Henrietta  Vance 
shout  with  laughter  by  pretending  that  the  olive  in  his 
tamale  was  a  green  hen's  egg. 

About  half-pact  ten  young  Haight  rose  from  the  table 
saying  he  thought  it  was  about  time  to  say  good-night. 
"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Turner.  "It's  early  yet." 
After  that,  however,  they  broke  up  very  quickly. 

Before  he  left  Vandover  saw  Turner  in  the  dining-room 
alone  for  a  minute. 

"Will  I  see  you  at  church  to-morrow?  "  he  asked,  as  she 
held  his  overcoat  for  him. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  41 

"I  don't  know,  Van,"  she  answered.  "You  know  Hen 
rietta  is  going  to  stay  all  night  with  me,  and  I  think  she 
will  want  me  to  go  home  with  her  to-morrow  morning  and 
then  stay  to  dinner  with  her.  But  I'm  going  to  early 
communion  to-morrow  morning;  why  can't  you  meet  me 
there?" 

"Why,  I  can,"  answered  Vandover,  settling  his  collar. 
"I  should  like  to  very  much." 

"Well,  then,"  she  replied,  "you  can  meet  me  in  front 
of  the  church  at  half -past  seven  o'clock." 

"Hey,  break  away  there!"  cried  Geary  from  the  front 
door.  "  Come  along,  Van,  if  you  are  going  with  us." 

Turner  let  Vandover  kiss  her  before  they  joined  the 
others.  "I'll  see  you  at  seven-thirty  to-morrow  morning," 
he  said  as  he  went  away. 

The  three  young  men  went  off  down  the  street,  arm  in 
arm,  smoking  their  cigars  and  cigarettes.  As  soon  as 
they  were  alone,  Charlie  Geary  began  to  tell  the  other 
two  of  everything  he  had  been/cloing  since  he  had  last 
seen  them. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said  as  he  took  an  arm  of  each,  "well, 
sir,  I  had  a  fine  sleep  last  night;  went  to  bed  at  ten  and 
never  woke  up  till  half -past  eight  this  morning.  Ah,  you 
bet  I  needed  it,  though.  I've  been  working  like  a  slave 
this  week.  You  know  I  take  my  law-examinations  in 
about  ten  days.  I'll  pass  all  right.  I'm  right  up  to  the 
handle  in  everything.  I  don't  believe  the  judge  could 
stick  me  anywhere  in  the  subject  of  torts." 

"Say,  boys,"  said  Vandover,  pausing  and  looking  at  his 
watch,  "it  isn't  very  late;  let's  go  downtown  and  have 
some  oysters." 


42  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  answered  young  Haight.  "How 
about  you,  Charlie?  " 

Geary  said  he  was  willing.  "Ah,"  he  added,  "you 
ought  to  have  seen  the  beefsteak  I  had  this  evening  at  the 
Grillroom."  And  as  they  rode  downtown  he  told  them 
of  the  steak  in  question.  "I  had  a  little  mug  of  ale  with 
it,  too,  and  a  dish  of  salad.  Ah,  it  went  great." 

They  decided  after  some  discussion  that  they  would 
go  to  the  Imperial. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

THE  Imperial  was  a  resort  not  far  from  the  corner  of 
Sutter  and  Kearney  streets,  a  few  doors  below  a  certain 
well-known  drug,  store,  in  one  window  of  which  was  a 
showcase  full  of  live  snakes. 

The  front  of  the  Imperial  was  painted  white,  and  there 
was  a  cigar-stand  in  the  vestibule  of  the  main  entrance. 
At  the  right  of  this  main  entrance  was  another  smaller 
one,  a  ladies'  entrance,  on  the  frosted  pane  of  which  one 
read,  "Oyster  Cafe." 

The  main  entrance  opened  directly  into  the  barroom- 
It  was  a  handsome  room,  paved  with  marble  flags.  To 
the  left  was  the  bar,  whose  counter  was  a  single  slab  of 
polished  redwood.  Behind  it  was  a  huge,  plate-glass  mir 
ror,  balanced  on  one  side  by  the  cash-register  and  on  the 
other  by  a  statuette  of  the  Diving  Girl  in  tinted  bisque. 
Between  the  two  were  pyramids  of  glasses  and  bottles, 
liqueur  flasks  in  wicker  cases,  and  a  great  bpuquet  of 
sweet-peas. 

The  three  bartenders,  in  clean  linen  coats  and  aprons, 
moved  about  here  and  there,  opening  bottles,  mixing 
drinks,  and  occasionally  turning  to  punch  the  indicator 
of  the  register. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  room,  facing  the  bar,  hung  a  large 
copy  of  a  French  picture  representing  a  Sabbath,  witches, 
goats,  and  naked  girls  whirling  through  the  air.  Under- 

43 


44  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

neath  it  was  the  lunch  counter,  where  clam-fritters,  the 
specialty  of  the  place,  could  be  had  four  afternoons  in  the 
week. 

Elsewhere  were  nickel-in-the-slot  machines,  cigar-light 
ers,  a  vase  of  wax  flowers  under  glass,  and  a  racing  chart 
setting  forth  the  day's  odds,  weights,  and  entries.  On  the 
end  wall  over  the  pantry-slides  was  a  second  "barroom" 
picture,  representing  the  ladies  of  a  harem  at  their  bath. 

But  its  "private  rooms"  were  the  chief  attraction  of  the 
Imperial.  These  were  reached  by  going  in  through  the 
smaller  door  to  the  right  of  the  main  vestibule.  Any  one 
coming  in  through  this  entrance  found  himself  in  a  long 
arid  narrow  passage.  On  the  right  of  this  passage  were 
eight  private  rooms,  very  small,  and  open  at  the  top  as 
the  law  required.  Half-way  down  its  length  the  passage 
grew  wider.  Here  the  rooms  were  on  both  sides  and  were 
much  larger  than  those  in  front. 

It  was  this  part  of  the  Imperial  that  was  most  frequented, 
and  that  had  made  its  reputation.  In  the  smaller  rooms 
in  front  one  had  beer  and  Welsh  rabbits;  in  the  larger 
rooms,  champagne  and  terrapin. 

Vandover,  Haight,  and  Geary  came  in  through  the 
ladies'  entrance  of  the  Imperial  at  about  eleven  o'clock, 
going  slowly  down  the  passage,  looking  into  each  of  the 
little  rooms,  searching  for  one  that  was  empty.  All  at 
once  Vandover,  who  was  in  the  lead,  cried  out : 

"Well,  if  here  isn't  that  man  Ellis,  drinking  whisky  by 
himself.  Bah!  a  man  that  will  drink  whisky  all  alone! 
Glad  to  see  you  just  the  same,  Bandy;  move  along,  will 
you — give  a  man  some  room." 

"Hello,  hello,  Bandy!"  cried  Geary  and  young  Haight, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  45 

hitting  him  in  the  back,  while  Geary  added:  "How  long 
have  you  been  down  here?  I've  just  come  from  making  a 
call  with  the  boys.  Had  a  fine  time;  what  are  you  drink 
ing,  whisky?  I'm  going  to  have  something  to  eat.  Didn't 
have  much  of  a  lunch  to-day,  but  you  ought  to  have  seen 
the  steak  I  had  at  the  Grillroom  —  as  thick  as  that,  and 
tender!  Oh,  it  went  great!  Here,  hang  my  coat  up 
there  on  that  side,  will  you?  " 

Bancroft  Ellis  was  one  of  the  young  men  of  the  city 
with  whom  the  three  fellows  had  become  acquainted  just 
after  their  return  from  college.  For  the  most  part,  they 
met  him  at  downtown  restaurants,  in  the  foyers  and  ves 
tibules  of  the  theatres,  on  Kearney  Street  of  a  Saturday 
afternoon,  or,  as  now,  in  the  little  rooms  of  the  Imperial, 
where  he  was  a  recognized  habitue  and  where  he  invariably 
called  for  whisky,  finishing  from  three  to  five  "ponies"  at 
every  sitting.  On  very  rare  occasions  they  saw  him  in 
society,  at  the  houses  where  their  "set"  was  received. 
At  these  functions  Ellis  could  never  be  persuaded  to  re 
main  in  the  parlours;  he  slipped  up  to  the  gentlemen's 
dressing-rooms  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  and  spent  the 
evening  silently  smoking  the  cigars  and  cigarettes  fur 
nished  by  the  host.  /  When  Vandover  and  his  friends 
came  up  between  dances,  to  brush  their  hair  or  to  rear 
range  their  neckties,  they  found  him  enveloped  in  a  blue 
haze  of  smoke,  his  feet  on  a  chair,  his  shirt  bosom  broken, 
and'  his  waistcoat  unbuttoned.  He  would  tell  them  that 
he  was  bored  and  thirsty  and  ask  how  much  longer  they 
were  going  to  stay.  He  knew  but  few  of  their  friends; 
his  home  was  in  a  little  town  in  the  interior  and  he  prided 
himself  on  being  a  "Native  Son  of  the  Golden  West." 


46  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

He  was  a  clerk  in  an  insurance  office  on  California  Street, 
and  had  never  been  out  of  the  state. 

For  the  rest  he  was  a  good  enough  fellow  and  the  three 
others  liked  him  very  much.  He  had  a  curious  passion 
for  facts  and  statistics,  and  his  pockets  were  full  of  little 
books  and  cards  to  which  he  was  constantly  referring. 
He  had  one  of  those  impossible  pocket-diaries,  the  first 
half  dozen  pages  loaded  with  information  of  every  kind 
printed  in  blinding  type,  postal  rates  to  every  country  in 
the  world,  statistics  as  to  population  and  rates  of  death, 
weights  and  measures,  the  highest  mountains  in  the  world, 
the  greatest  depths  of  the  ocean.  He  kept  a  little  book 
in  his  left-hand  vest  pocket  that  gave  the  plan  and  seating 
capacity  of  every  theatre  in  the  city,  while  in  the  right- 
hand  pocket  was  a  tiny  Webster's  dictionary  which  was 
his  especial  pride.  The  calendar  for  the  current  year 
was  pasted  in  the  lining  of  his  hat,  together  with  the 
means  to  be  employed  in  the  resuscitation  of  a  half- 
drowned  person.  He  also  carried  about  a  "Vest  Pocket 
Edition  of  Popular  Information,"  which  had  never  been 
of  the  slightest  use  to  him. 

The  room  in  which  they  were  now  seated  was  very  small 
and  opened  directly  upon  the  passage.  On  either  side 
of  the  table  was  a  seat  that  would  hold  two,  and  on  the 
wall  opposite  the  door  hung  a  mirror,  its  gilt  frame  en 
closed  in  pink  netting.  The  table  itself  was  covered  with 
a  tolerably  clean  cloth,  though  it  was  of  coarse  linen  and 
rather  damp. 

There  were  the  usual  bottles  of  olives  and  pepper  sauce, 
a  plate  of  broken  crackers,  and  a  ribbed  match-safe  of 
china.  The  sugar  bowl  was  of  plated  ware  and  on  it 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  47 

were  scratched  numberless  dates  together  with  the  first 
names  of  a  great  many  girls,  "Nannie,"  "Ida,"  "Flossie." 

Between  the  castor  bottles  was  the  bill  of  fare,  held  by 
a  thin  string  between  two  immense  leather  covers  which 
were  stamped  with  wine  merchants'  advertisements. 
Geary  reached  for  this  before  any  of  the  others,  saying  at 
the  same  time,  "Well,  what  are  you  going  to  have?  Tm 
going  to  have  a  Welsh  rabbit  and  a  pint  of  ale."  He 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  as  if  demanding  whether  or 
no  they  approved  of  his  choice.  He  assumed  the  man 
agement  of  what  was  going  on,  advising  the  others  what 
to  have,  telling  Vandover  not  to  order  certain  dishes  that 
he  liked  because  it  took  so  long  to  cook  them.  He  had 
young  Haight  ring  for  the  waiter,  and  when  he  had  come, 
Geary  read  off  the  entire  order  to  him  twice  over,  making 
sure  that  he  had  taken  it  correctly.  "That's  what  we 
want  all  right,  all  right  —  isn't  it?"  he  said,  looking 
around  at  the  rest. 

•    The  waiter,  whose  eyes  were  red  from  lack  of  sleep,  put 
down  before  them  a  plate  of  limp,  soft  shrimps. 

"  Hello,  Toby ! "  said  Vandover. 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  answered  Toby.  "Why, 
good  evening,  Mr.  Vandover;  haven't  seen  you  'round 
here  for  some  time."  He  took  their  order,  and  as  he  was 
going  away,  Vandover  called  him  back: 

"  Say,  Toby,  "said  he,"  has  Flossie  been  around  to-night  ?" 

"No,"  answered  Toby,  "she  hasn't  shown  up  yet. 
Her  running-mate  was  in  about  nine,  but  she  went  out 
again  right  away." 

"Well,"  said  Vandover,  smiling,  "if  Flossie  comes  'round 
show  her  in  here,  will  you?  " 


48  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

The  others  laughed,  and  joked  him  about  this,  and 
Vandover  settled  back  in  his  seat,  easing  his  position. 

"Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  like  it  in  here.  It's  always 
pleasant  and  warm  and  quiet  and  the  service  is  good  and 
you  get  such  good  things  to  eat." 

Now  that  the  young  fellows  were  by  themselves,  and 
could  relax  that  restraint,  that  good  breeding  and  delicacy 
which  had  been  natural  to  them  in  the  early  part  of  the 
evening  at  the  Ravises',  their  manners  changed:  they 
lounged  clumsily  upon  their  seats,  their  legs  stretched 
out,  their  waistcoats  unbuttoned,  caring  only  to  be  at 
their  ease.  Their  talk  and  manners  became  blunt,  rude, 
unconstrained,  the  coarser  masculine  fibre  reasserting 
itself.  With  the  exception  of  young  Haight  they  were 
all  profane  enough,  and  it  was  not  very  long  before  their 
conversation  became  obscene. 

Geary  told  them  how  he  had  spent  the  afternoon  prom 
enading  Kearney  and  Market  streets  and  just  where  he 
had  gone  to  get  his  cocktail  and  his  cigar.  "Ah,"  he 
added,  "you  ought  to  have  seen  Ida  Wade  and  Bessie 
Laguna.  Oh,  Ida  was  rigged  up  to  beat  the  band;  honestly 
her  hat  was  as  broad  across  as  that.  You  know  there's 
no  use  talking,  she's  an  awfully  handsome  girl." 

A  discussion  arose  over  the  girl's  virtue.  Ellis,  Geary, 
and  young  Haight  maintained  that  Ida  was  only  fast; 
Vandover,  however,  had  his  doubts. 

"For  that  matter,"  said  Ellis  after  a  while,  "I  like 
Bessie  Laguna  a  good  deal  better  than  I  do  Ida." 

"Ah,  yes,"  retorted  young  Haight,  "you  like  Bessie 
Laguna  too  much  anyhow." 

Young  Haight  had  a  theory  that  one  should  never  care 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  49 

in  any  way  for  that  kind  of  a  girl  nor  become  at  all  inti 
mate  with  her. 

"The  matter  of  liking  her  or  not  liking  her,"  he  said, 
"ought  not  to  enter  into  the  question  at  all.  You  are 
both  of  you  out  for  a  good  time  and  that's  all;  you  have  a 
jolly  flirtation  with  her  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  you  never 
see  her  again.  That's  the  way  it  ought  to  be !  This  idea 
of  getting  intimate  with  that  sort  of  a  piece,  and  trying 
to  get  her  to  care  for  you,  is  all  wrong." 

"Oh,"  said  Vandover  deprecatingly,  "you  take  all  the 
pleasure  out  of  it;  where  does  your  good  time  come  in  if 
you  don't  at  least  pretend  that  you  like  the  girl  and  try 
to  make  her  like  you?  " 

"But  don't  you  see,"  answered  Haight,  "what  a  dread 
ful  thing  it  would  be  if  a  girl  like  that  came  to  care  for  you 
seriously?  It  isn't  the  same  as  if  it  were  a  girl  of  your 
own  class." 

"Ah,  Dolly,  you've  got  a  bean,"  muttered  Ellis,  sipping 
his  whisky. 

Meanwhile,  the  Imperial  had  been  filling  up;  at  about 
eleven  the  theatres  were  over,  and  now  the  barroom  was 
full  of  men.  They  came  in  by  twos  and  threes  and  some; 
times  even  by  noisy  parties  of  a  half  dozen  or  more.  The 
white  swing  doors  of  the  main  entrance  flapped  back  and 
forth  continually,  letting  out  into  the  street  puffs  of  tepid 
air  tainted  with  the  smell  of  alcohol.  The  men  entered 
•and  ordered  their  drinks,  and  leaning  their  elbows  upon 
the  bar  continued  the  conversation  they  had  begun  out 
side.  Afterward  they  passed  over  to  the  lunch  counter 
and  helped  themselves  to  a  plate  of  stewed  tripe  or  potato 
salad,  eating  it  in  a  secluded  corner,  leaning  over  so  as  not 


50  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

to  stain  their  coats.  There  was  a  continual  clinking  of 
glasses  and  popping  of  corks,  and  at  every  instant  the 
cash-register  clucked  and  rang  its  bell. 

Between  the  barroom  and  the  other  part  of  the  house 
was  a  door  hung  with  blue  plush  curtains,  looped  back; 
the  waiters  constantly  passed  back  and  forth  through  this, 
carrying  plates  of  oysters,  smoking  rarebits,  tiny  glasses 
of  liqueurs,  and  goblets  of  cigars. 

All  the  private  rooms  opening  from  either  passage  were 
full;  the  men  came  in,  walking  slowly,  looking  for  their 
friends;  but  more  often,  the  women  and  girls  passed  up 
and  down  with  a  chatter  of  conversation,  a  rattle  of  stiff 
skirts  and  petticoats,  and  a  heavy  whiff  of  musk.  There 
was  a  continual  going  and  coming,  a  monotonous  shuffle 
of  feet  and  hum  of  talk.  A  heavy  odorous  warmth  in 
which  were  mingled  the  smells  of  sweetened  whisky,  to 
bacco,  the  fumes  of  cooking,  and  the  scent  of  perfume, 
exhaled  into  the  air.  A  gay  and  noisy  party  developed 
in  one  of  the  large  back  rooms;  at  every  moment  one 
could  hear  gales  of  laughter,  the  rattle  of  chairs  and 
glassware,  mingled  with  the  sounds  of  men's  voices  and 
the  little  screams  and  cries  of  women.  Every  time  the 
waiter  opened  the  door  to  deliver  an  order  he  let  out  a 
momentary  torrent  of  noises. 

Girls,  habitues  of  the  place,  continued  to  pass  the  door 
of  the  room  where  Vandover  and  his  friends  were  seated. 
Each  time  a  particularly  handsome  one  went  by,  the  four 
looked  out  after  her,  shutting  their  lips  and  eyes  and  nod 
ding  their  heads. 

Young  Haight  had  called  for  more  drinks,  ordering, 
however,  mineral  water  for  himself,  and  Vandover  was 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  51 

just  telling  about  posing  the  female  models  in  a  certain 
life-class  to  which  he  belonged,  when  he  looked  up  and 
broke  off,  exclaiming : 

"Well,  well,  here  we  are  at  last!  How  are  you,  Flossie? 
Come  right  in." 

Flossie  stood  in  the  doorway  smiling  good-humouredly 
at  them,  without  a  trace  of  embarrassment  or  of  confusion 
in  her  manner.  She  was  an  immense  girl,  quite  six  feet 
tall,  broad  and  well-made,  in  proportion.  She  was  very 
handsome,  full-throated,  heavy-eyed,  and  slow  in  her 
movements.  Her  eyes  and  mouth,  like  everything  about 
her,  were  large,  but  each  time  she  spoke  or  smiled,  she 
disclosed  her  teeth,  which  were  as  white,  as  well-set,  and 
as  regular  as  the  rows  of  kernels  on  an  ear  of  green  corn. 
In  her  ears  were  small  yellow  diamonds,  the  only  jewellery 
she  wore.  There  was  no  perceptible  cosmetic  on  her  face, 
which  had  a  clean  and  healthy  look  as  though  she  had 
just  given  it  a  vigorous  washing. 

She  wore  a  black  hat  with  a  great  flare  to  the  brim  on 
one  side.  It  was  trimmed  very  dashingly  with  black 
feathers,  imitation  jet,  and  a  little  puff  of  plush  —  robin's- 
egg  blue.  Her  dress  was  of  rough,  black  camel's  hair, 
tailor-made,  and  but  for  the  immense  balloon  sleeves, 
absolutely  plain.  It  was  cut  in  such  a  way  that  from 
neck  to  waist  there  was  no  break,  the  buttons  being 
on  the  shoulder  and  under  the  arm.  The  skirt  was  full 
and  stiff,  and  without  the  least  trimming.  Everything 
was  black  —  hat,  dress,  gloves  —  and  the  effect  was  of  a 
simplicity  and  severity  so  pronounced  as  to  be  very 
striking. 

However,  around  her  waist  she  wore  as  a  belt  a  thick 


52  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

rope  of  oxidized  silver,  while  her  shoes,  or  rather  walking 
slippers,  were  of  white  canvas. 

She  belonged  to  that  class  of  women  who  are  not  to 
know  one's  last  name  or  address,  and  whose  hate  and  love 
are  equally  to  be  dreaded.  There  was  upon  her  face  the 
unmistakable  traces  of  a  ruined  virtue  and  a  vanished 
innocence.  Her  slightest  action  suggested  her  profession; 
as  soon  as  she  removed  her  veil  and  gloves  it  was  as  though 
she  were  partially  undressed,  and  her  uncovered  face  and 
hands  seemed  to  be  only  portions  of  her  nudity. 

The  general  conception  of  women  of  her  class  is  a 
painted  and  broken  wreck.  Flossie  radiated  health;  her 
eyes  were  clear,  her  nerves  steady,  her  flesh  hard  and  even 
as  a  child's.  There  hung  about  her  an  air  of  cleanliness, 
of  freshness,  of  good  nature,  of  fine,  high  spirits,  while 
with  every  movement  she  exhaled  a  delicious  perfume 
that  was  not  only  musk,  but  that  seemed  to  come  alike 
from  her  dress,  her  hair,  her  neck,  her  very  flesh  and  body. 

Vandover  was  no  longer  the  same  as  he  had  been  during 
his  college  days.  He  was  familiar  now  with  this  odour  of 
abandoned  women,  this  foul  sweet  savour  of  the  great 
city's  vice,  that  quickened  his  breath  and  that  sent  his 
heart  knocking  at  his  throat.  It  was  the  sensitive  artist 
nature  in  him  that  responded  instantly  to  anything  sen 
suously  attractive.  Each  kind  and  class  of  beautiful 
women  could  arouse  in  Vandover  passions  of  equal  force, 
though  of  far  different  kind.  Turner  Ravis  influenced 
him  upon  his  best  side,  calling  out  in  him  all  that  was 
cleanest,  finest,  and  most  delicate.  Flossie  appealed  only 
to  the  animal  and  the  beast  in  him,  the  evil,  hideous  brute 
that  made  instant  answer. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  53 

"What  will  you  take,  Flossie?"  asked  Vandover,  as  she 
settled  herself  among  them.  "We  are  all  drinking  beer 
except  Ellis.  He's  filling  up  with  whisky."  But  Flossie 
never  drank.  It  was  one  of  the  peculiarities  for  which  she 
was  well  known. 

"I  don't  want  either,"  she  answered,  and  turning  to 
the  waiter,  she  added,  "You  can  bring  me  some  Apollinaris 
water,  Toby." 

Flossie  betrayed  herself  as  soon  as  she  spoke,  the  effect 
of  her  appearance  was  spoiled.  Her  voice  was  hoarse, 
a  low-pitched  rasp,  husky,  throaty,  and  full  of  brutal, 
vulgar  modulations. 

"Smoke,  Flossie?"  said  Geary,  pushing  his  cigarette 
case  across  to  her.  Flossie  took  a  cigarette,  rolled  it  to 
make  it  loose,  and  smoked  it  while  she  told  them  how  she 
had  once  tried  to  draw  up  the  smoke  through  her  nose  as 
it  came  out  between  her  lips. 

"And  honestly,  boys,"  she  growled,  "it  made  me  that 
sick  that  I  just  had  to  go  to  bed." 

"Who  is  the  crowd  out  back?"  asked  Geary  for  the 
sake  of  saying  something.  Flossie  embarrassed  them  all 
a  little,  and  conversation  with  girls  of  her  class  was  difficult. 

"Oh,  that's  May  and  Nannie  with  some  men  from  a 
banquet  at  the  Palace  Hotel,"  she  answered. 

The  talk  dragged  along  little  by  little  and  Flossie  began 
badgering  young  Haight.  "Say,  you  over  there,"  she 
exclaimed,  "what's  the  matter  with  you?  You  don't  say 
anything." 

Young  Haight  blushed  and  answered  very  much  em 
barrassed:  "Oh,  I'm  just  listening."  He  was  anxious  to 
get  away.  He  got  up  and  reached  for  his  hat  and  coat, 


54  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

saying  with  a  good-natured  smile:  "Well,  boys  and 
girls,  I  think  I  shall  have  to  leave  you." 

"Don't  let  me  frighten  you  away,"  said  Flossie,  laugh 
ing. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  trying  to  hide  his  embarrass 
ment,  "  I  have  to  go  anyhow." 

While  the  others  were  saying  good  night  to  him  and 
asking  when  they  should  see  him  again,  Flossie  leaned 
over  to  him,  crying  out,  "Good  night!"  All  at  once, 
and  before  he  knew  what  she  was  about,  she  kissed  him 
full  on  the  mouth.  He  started  sharply  at  this,  but  was 
not  angry,  simply  pulling  away  from  her,  blushing,  very 
embarrassed,  and  more  and  more  anxious  to  get  away. 
Toby,  the  waiter,  appeared  at  their  door: 

"That  last  was  on  me,  you  know,"  said  young  Haight, 
intercepting  Vandover  and  settling  for  the  round  of  drinks. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  Toby,  "what's  the  matter  with 
your  lip?" 

"I  cut  it  a  little  while  ago  on  a  broken  glass,"  answered 
young  Haight.  " Is  it  bleeding  again? "  he  added,  putting 
two  fingers  on  his  lips. 

"It  is  sure  enough,"  said  Geary.  "Here,"  he  went  on, 
wetting  the  corner  of  a  napkin  from  the  water  bottle, 
"hold  that  on  it." 

The  others  began  to  laugh.  "Flossie  did  that,"  Vando 
ver  explained  to  Toby.  Ellis  was  hastily  looking  through 
his  pockets,  rumbling  about  among  his  little  books. 

"I  had  something  here,"  he  kept  muttering,  "if  I  can 
only  find  it,  that  told  just  what  to  do  when  you  cut  your 
self  with  glass.  There  may  be  glass  in  it,  you  know." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  that's  all  right,"  exclaimed  young 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  55 

Haight,  now  altogether  disconcerted.  "It  don't  amount 
to  anything." 

"I  tell  you  what,"  observed  Geary;  "get  some  court- 
plaster  at  the  snake  doctor's  just  above  here." 

"No,  no,  that's  all  right,"  returned  young  Haight, 
moving  off.  "Good  night.  I'll  see  you  again  pretty 
soon." 

He  went  away.  Ellis,  who  was  still  searching  through 
his  little  books,  suddenly  uttered  an  exclamation.  He 
leaned  out  into  the  passage,  crying:  "The  half  of  a  hot 
onion;  tie  it  right  on  the  cut."  But  Haight  had  already 
gone.  "You  see,"  explained  Ellis,  "that  draws  out  any 
little  particles  of  glass.  Look  at  this,"  he  added,  reading 
an  item  just  below  the  one  he  had  found.  "You  can  use 
cigar  ashes  for  eczema  " 

Flossie  nodded  her  head  at  him,  smiling  and  saying: 
"Well,  the  next  time  I  have  eczema  I  will  remember 
that." 

Flossie  left  them  a  little  after  this,  joining  Nannie  and 
May  in  the  larger  room  that  held  the  noisy  party.  The 
three  fellows  had  another  round  of  drinks. 

All  the  evening  Ellis  had  been  drinking  whisky.  Now 
he  astonished  the  others  by  suddenly  calling  for  beer. 
He  persisted  in  drinking  it  out  of  the  celery  glass,  which 
he  emptied  at  a  single  pull.  Then  Vandover  had  claret- 
punches  all  round,  protesting  that  his  mouth  felt  dry  as  a 
dust-bin.  Geary  at  length  declared  that  he  felt  pretty 
far  gone,  adding  that  he  was  in  the  humour  for  having  "a 
high  old  time." 

"Say,  boys,"  he  exclaimed,  bringing  his  hand  down 
on  the  table,  "what  do  you  say  that  we  all  go  to  every 


56  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

joint  in  town,  and  wind  up  at  the  Turkish  baths?  We'll 
have  a  regular  time.  Let's  see  now  how  much  money  I 
have." 

Thereat  they  all  took  account  of  their  money.  Vandover 
had  fourteen  dollars,  but  he  owed  for  materials  at  his  art 
dealer's,  and  so  put  away  eight  of  it  in  an  inside  pocket. 
The  others  followed  his  example,  each  one  reserving  five 
dollars  for  immediate  use. 

"That  will  be  one  dollar  for  the  Hammam,"  said  Geary, 
"and  four  dollars  apiece  for  drinks.  You  can  get  all  we 
want  on  four  dollars."  They  had  a  last  claret-punch  and, 
having  settled  with  Toby,  went  out. 

Coming  out  into  the  cold  night  air  from  the  warm  in 
terior  of  the  Imperial  affected  Vandover  and  Geary  in  a 
few  minutes.  But  apparently  nothing  could  affect  Ellis, 
neither  whisky,  claret-punch  nor  beer.  He  walked  steadily 
between  Vandover  and  Geary,  linking  an  arm  in  each 
of  theirs. 

These  two  became  very  drunk  almost  at  once.  At 
every  minute  Vandover  would  cry  out,  "Yee-ee-ow/ 
Thash  way  I  feel,  jush  like  that."  Geary  made  a  "Josh" 
that  was  a  masterpiece,  the  success  of  the  occasion.  It 
consisted  in  exclaiming  from  time  to  time,  "Cherries  are 
ripe!"  This  was  funny.  It  seemed  to  have  some  ludi 
crous,  hidden  double-meaning  that  was  irresistible.  It 
stuck  to  them  all  the  evening;  when  a  girl  passed  them  on 
Kearney  Street  and  Geary  cried  out  at  her  that  "  Cherries 
were  ripe! "  it  threw  them  all  into  spasms  of  laughter. 

They  went  first  to  the  Palace  Garden  near  the  Tivoli 
Theatre,  where  Geary  and  Vandover  had  beer  and  Ellis 
a  whisky  cocktail.  The  performance  was  just  finishing, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  57 

and  they  voted  that  they  were  not  at  all  amused  at  a  lean, 
overworked  girl  whom  they  saw  performing  a  song  and 
dance  through  a  blue  haze  of  tobacco  smoke;  so  they  all 
exclaimed,  "Cherries  are  ripe!"  and  tramped  out  again 
to  visit  the  Luxembourg.  The  beer  began  to  go  against 
Vandover's  stomach  by  this  time,  but  he  forced  it  down 
his  throat,  shutting  his  eyes.  Then  they  said  they  would 
go  to  the  toughest  place  in  town,  "Steve  Casey's";  this 
was  on  a  side-street.  The  walls  were  covered  with  yellowed 
photographs  of  once-famous  pugilists  and  old-time  con 
cert-hall  singers.  There  was  sand  on  the  floor,  and  in 
the  dancing  room  at  the  back,  where  nobody  danced,  a 
jaded  young  man  was  banging  out  polkas  and  quick-steps 
at  a  cheap  piano. 

At  the  Crystal  Palace,  where  they  all  had  shandy-gaff, 
they  met  one  of  Ellis's  friends,  a  young  fellow  of  about 
twenty.  He  was  stone  deaf,  and  in  consequence  had  be 
come  dumb ;  but  for  all  that  he  was  very  eager  to  associate 
with  the  young  men  of  the  city  and  would  not  hear  of  being 
separated  and  set  apart  with  the  other  deaf  mutes.  He 
was  very  pleased  to  meet  them  and  joined  them  at  once. 
They  all  knew  him  pretty  well  and  called  him  the 
"Dummy." 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  the  party  was  seen  at  nearly 
every  bar  and  saloon  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Market 
and  Kearney  streets.  Geary  and  Vandover  were  very 
drunk  indeed.  Vandover  was  having  a  glorious  time; 
he  was  not  silent  a  minute,  talking,  laughing,  and  singing, 
and  crying  out  continually,  "Cherries  are  ripe!"  When 
he  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say  he  would  exclaim, 
"  Yee-ee-ow  /  Thash  way  I  feel." 


58  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

For  two  hours  they  drank  steadily.  Vandover  was  in 
a  dreadful  condition;  the  Dummy  got  so  drunk  that  he 
could  talk,  a  peculiarity  which  at  times  had  been  known 
to  occur  to  him.  As  will  sometimes  happen,  Geary  so 
bered  up  a  little  and  at  the  " Grotto"  bathed  his  head  and 
face  in  the  washroom.  After  this  he  became  pretty 
steady,  he  stopped  drinking,  and  tried  to  assume  the 
management  of  the  party,  ordering  their  drinks  for  them, 
and  casting  up  the  amount  of  the  check. 

About  two  o'clock  they  returned  toward  the  Luxem 
bourg,  staggering  and  swaying.  The  Luxembourg  was 
a  sort  of  German  restaurant  under  a  theatre  where  one 
could  get  some  very  good  German  dishes.  There  Van 
dover  had  beer  and  sauerkraut,  but  Ellis  took  more 
whisky.  The  Dummy  continued  to  make  peculiar  sounds 
in  his  throat,  half-noise,  half-speech,  and  Geary  gravely 
informed  the  waiter  that  cherries  were  ripe. 

All  at  once  Ellis  was  drunk,  collapsing  in  a  moment. 
The  skin  around  his  eyes  was  purple  and  swollen,  the 
pupils  themselves  were  contracted,  and  their  range  of  vision 
seemed  to  stop  at  about  a  yard  in  front  of  his  face.  Sud 
denly  he  swept  glasses,  plates,  castor,  knives,  forks, 
and  all  from  off  the  table  with  a  single  movement  of  his 
arm. 

They  all  jumped  up,  sober  in  a  minute,  knowing  that 
a  scene  was  at  hand.  The  waiter  rushed  at  Ellis,  but 
Ellis  knocked  him  down  and  tried  to  stamp  on  his  face. 
Vandover  and  the  Dummy  tried  to  hold  his  arms  and 
pull  him  off.  He  turned  on  the  Dummy  in  a  silent  frenzy 
of  rage  and  brought  his  knuckles  down  upon  his  head 
again  and  again.  For  the  moment  Ellis  could  neither 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  59 

hear,  nor  see,  nor  speak;  he  was  blind,  dumb,  fighting 
drunk,  and  his  fighting  was  not  the  fighting  of  Van- 
dover. 

"Get  in  here  and  help,  will  you?"  panted  Vandover  to 
Geary,  as  he  struggled  with  Ellis.  "He  can  kill  people 
when  he's  like  this.  Oh,  damn  the  whisky  anyhow! 
Look  out  —  don't  let  him  get  that  knife !  Grab  his  other 
arm,  there!  now,  kick  his  feet  from  under  him!  Oh,  kick 
hard !  Sit  on  his  legs ;  there  now.  Ah !  Hell !  he's  bitten 
me !  Look  out !  here  comes  the  bouncer ! " 

The  bouncer  and  three  other  waiters  charged  into  them 
while  they  were  struggling  on  the  floor.  Vandover  was 
twice  knocked  down  and  the  Dummy  had  his  lip  split. 
Ellis  struggled  to  his  feet  again  and,  still  silent,  fought 
them  all  alike,  a  fine  line  of  froth  gathering  at  the  corners 
of  his  lips. 

When  they  were  finally  ejected,  and  pulled  themselves 
together  in  the  street  outside,  Geary  had  disappeared. 
He  had  left  them  during  the  struggle  with  Ellis  and  had 
gone  home.  Ah,  you  bet  he  wasn't  going  to  stay  any 
longer  with  the  crowd  when  they  got  like  that.  If  Ellis 
was  fool  enough  to  get  as  drunk  as  that  it  was  his  own 
lookout.  He  wasn't  going  to  stay  and  get  thrown  out  of 
any  saloon;  ah,  no,  you  bet  he  was  too  clever  for  that. 
He  was  sober  enough  now  and  would  go  home  to  bed  and 
get  a  good  sleep. 

The  fight  in  the  saloon  had  completely  sobered  the 
rest  of  them.  Ellis  was  tractable  enough  again,  and  very 
sorry  for  having  got  them  into  such  a  row.  Vandover 
was  horribly  sick  at  his  stomach. 

The  three  locked  arms  and  started  slowly  toward  the 


60  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Turkish  baths.     On  their  way  they  stopped  at  an  all- 
night  drug  store  and  had  some  seltzer. 


Vandover  had  about  three  hours'  sleep  that  night.  He 
was  awakened  by  the  attendant  shaking  his  arm  and  cry 
ing: 

4 'Half -past  six,  sir." 

"Huh!"  he  exclaimed,  starting  up.  "What  about 
half-past  six?  I  don't  want  to  get  up." 

"Told  me  to  call  you,  sir,  at  half -past  six;  quarter  to 
seven  now." 

"Oh,  all  right,  very  well,"  answered  Vandover.  He 
turned  away  his  face  on  the  pillow,  while  a  wretched  feeling 
of  nausea  crept  over  him;  every  movement  of  his  head 
made  it  ache  to  bursting.  Behind  his  temples  the  blood 
throbbed  and  pumped  like  the  knocking  of  hammers. 
His  mouth  would  have  been  dry  but  for  a  thick  slime  that 
filled  it  and  that  tasted  of  oil.  He  felt  weak,  his  hands 
trembled,  his  forehead  was  cold  and  seemed  wet  and 
sticky. 

He  could  recall  hardly  anything  of  the  previous  night. 
He  remembered,  however,  of  going  to  the  Imperial  and  of 
seeing  Flossie,  and  he  did  remember  at  last  of  leaving 
word  to  be  called  at  half -past  six. 

He  got  up  without  waking  the  other  two  fellows  and 
took  a  plunge  in  the  cold  tank,  dressed  very  slowly,  and 
went  out.  The  stores  were  all  closed,  the  streets  were 
almost  deserted.  He  walked  to  the  nearest  uptown  car- 
line  and  took  an  outside  seat,  feeling  better  and  steadier 
for  every  moment  of  the  sharp  morning  air. 

Van  Ness  Avenue  was  very  still.     It  was  about  half- 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  61 

past  seven.  The  curtains  were  down  in  all  the  houses; 
here  and  there  a  servant  could  be  seen  washing  down  the 
front  steps.  In  the  vestibules  of  some  of  the  smaller 
houses  were  loaves  of  French  bread  and  glass  jars  of 
cream,  while  near  them  lay  the  damp  twisted  roll  of  the 
morning's  paper.  There  was  everywhere  a  great  chitter- 
ing  of  sparrows,  and  the  cable-cars,  as  yet  empty,  trundled 
down  the  cross  streets,  the  conductors  cleaning  the  win 
dows  and  metal  work.  From  far  down  at  one  end  of  the 
avenue  came  the  bells  of  the  Catholic  Cathedral  ringing 
for  early  mass;  and  a  respectable-looking  second  girl  hur 
ried  past  him  carrying  her  prayer-book.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  avenue  was  a  blue  vista  of  the  bay,  the  great 
bulk  of  Mount  Tamalpais  rearing  itself  out  of  the  water 
like  a  waking  lion. 

In  front  of  the  little  church  Turner  was  waiting  for  him. 
She  was  dressed  very  prettily  and  the  cold  morning  air  had 
given  her  a  fine  colour. 

"You  don't  look  more  than  half  awake,"  she  said,  as 
Vandover  came  up.  "  It  was  awfully  good  of  you  to  come. 
Oh,  Van,  you  look  dreadfully.  It  is  too  bad  to  make  you 
get  up  so  early." 

"No,  no,"  protested  Vandover.  "I  was  only  too  glad 
to  come.  I  didn't  sleep  well  last  night.  I  hope  I  haven't 
kept  you  waiting." 

"I've  only  just  come,"  answered  Turner.  "But  I 
think  it  is  time  to  go  in." 

The  little  organ  was  muttering  softly  to  itself  as  they 
entered.  It  was  very  still  otherwise.  The  morning  sun 
struck  through  the  stained  windows  and  made  pretty 
lights  about  the  altar;  besides  themselves  there  were  some 


62  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

half  dozen  other  worshippers.  The  little  organ  ceased 
with  a  long  droning  sigh,  and  the  minister  in  his  white 
robes  turned  about,  facing  his  auditors,  and  in  the  midst 
of  a  great  silence  opened  the  communion  service  with  the 
words:  "Ye  who  do  truly  and  earnestly  repent  you  of 
your  sins  and  are  in  love  and  charity  with  your  neigh 
bours " 

As  Vandover  rose  with  the  rest  the  blood  rushed  to  his 
head  and  a  feeling  of  nausea  and  exhaustion,  the  dregs  of 
his  previous  night's  debauch,  came  over  him  again  for  a 
moment,  so  that  he  took  hold  of  the  back  of  the  pew  in 
front  of  him  to  steady  himself. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

IN  THE  afternoons  Vandover  worked  in  his  studio, 
wtiich  was  on  Sacramento  Street,  but  in  the  mornings  he 
was  accustomed  to  study  in  the  life-class  at  the  School  of 
Design. 

This  was  on  California  Street  over  the  Market,  an 
immense  room  partitioned  by  enormous  wooden  screens 
into  alcoves,  where  the  still-life  classes  worked,  painting 
carrots,  grapes,  and  dusty  brown  stone-jugs. 

All  about  were  a  multitude  of  casts,  the  fighting  gladia 
tor,  the  discobulus,  the  Venus  of  Milo,  and  hundreds  of 
smaller  pieces,  masks,  torsos,  and  the  heads  of  the  Par 
thenon  horses.  Flattened  paint- tubes  and  broken  bits 
of  charcoal  littered  the  floor  and  cluttered  the  chairs  and 
shelves.  A  strong  odour  of  turpentine  and  fixative  was 
in  the  air,  mingled  with  the  stronger  odours  of  linseed  oil 
and  sour,  stale  French  bread. 

Every  afternoon  a  portrait  class  of  some  thirty-odd 
assembled  in  one  of  the  larger  alcoves  near  the  door. 
Several  of  the  well-known  street  characters  of  the  city 
had  posed  for  this  class,  and  at  one  time  Father  Elphick, 
the  white-haired,  bareheaded  vegetarian,  with  his  crooked 
stick  and  white  clothes,  had  sat  to  it  for  his  head. 

Vandover  was  probably  the  most  promising  member  of 
the  school.  His  style  was  sketchy,  conscientious,  and 
full  of  strength  and  decision.  He  worked  in  large  lines, 

63 


64  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

broad  surfaces  and  masses  of  light  or  shade.  His  colour 
was  good,  running  to  purples,  reds,  and  admirable  greens, 
full  of  bitumen  and  raw  sienna. 

Though  he  had  no  idea  of  composition,  he  was  clever 
enough  to  acknowledge  it.  His  finished  pictures  were 
broad  reaches  of  landscape,  deserts,  shores,  and  moors  in 
which  he  placed  solitary  figures  of  men  or  animals  in  a 
way  that  was  very  effective  —  as,  for  instance,  a  great 
strip  of  shore  and  in  the  foreground  the  body  of  a  drowned 
sailor;  a  lion  drinking  in  the  midst  of  an  immense  Sahara; 
or,  one  that  he  called  "The  Remnant  of  an  Army,"  a 
dying  war  horse  wandering  on  an  empty  plain,  the  saddle 
turned  under  his  belly,  his  mane  and  tail  snarled  with 
burrs. 

Some  time  before  there  had  come  to  him  the  idea  for  a 
great  picture.  It  was  to  be  his  first  masterpiece,  his  salon 
picture  when  he  should  get  to  Paris.  A  British  cavalry 
man  and  his  horse,  both  dying  of  thirst  and  wounds,  were 
to  be  lost  on  a  Soudanese  desert,  and  in  the  middle  dis 
tance  on  a  ridge  of  sand  a  lion  should  be  drawing  in  upon 
them,  crouched  on  his  belly,  his  tail  stiff,  his  lower  jaw 
hanging.  The  melodrama  of  the  old  English  "Home 
Book  of  Art"  still  influenced  Vandover.  He  was  in  love 
with  this  idea  for  a  picture  and  had  determined  to  call  it 
"The  Last  Enemy."  The  effects  he  wished  to  produce 
were  isolation  and  intense  heat;  as  to  the  soldier,  he  was 
as  yet  undecided  whether  to  represent  him  facing  death 
resignedly,  calmly,  or  grasping  the  barrel  of  his  useless 
rifle,  determined  to  fight  to  the  last. 

Vandover  loved  to  paint  and  to  draw.  He  was  per 
fectly  contented  when  his  picture  was  "coming  right," 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  65 

and  when  he  felt  sure  he  was  doing  good  work.  He  often 
did  better  than  he  thought  he  would,  but  never  so  well  as 
he  thought  he  co?/  ' 

However,  it  bored  him  to  work  very  hard,  and  when  he 
did  not  enjoy  his  work  he  stopped  it  at  once.  He  would 
tell  himself  on  these  occasions  that  one  had  to  be  in  the 
mood  and  that  he  should  wait  for  the  inspiration,  although 
he  know  v^-tfj}  how  absurd  such  excuses  were,  how 
false  and  how  pernicious. 

That  certain  little  weakness  of  Vandover's  character, 
his  self-indulgence,  had  brought  him  to  such  a  point  that 
he  thought  he  had  to  be  amused.  If  his  painting  amused 
Km,  very  good;  if  not,  he  found  something  else  that  would. 

On  the  following  Monday  as  he  worked  in  the  life-class, 
\  andover  was  thinking,  or,  rather,  trying  not  to  think,  of 
what  he  had  done  the  Sunday  morning  previous  when  he 
had  gone  to  communion  with  Turner  Ravis.  For  a  long 
time  he  evaded  the  thought  because  he  knew  that  if  he 
allowed  it  to  come  into  his  mind  it  would  worry  and  harass 
him.  But  by  and  by  the  effort  of  dodging  the  enemy 
became  itself  too  disagreeable,  so  he  gave  it  up  and  allowed 
himself  to  look  the  matter  squarely  in  the  face. 

Ah,  yes;  it  was  an  ugly  thing  he  had  done  there,  a  really 
awful  thing.  He  must  VIPVA  V>een  still  drunk  when  he  had 
knelt  in  the  chancel.  V  andover  shuddered  as  he  thought 
of  this,  and  told  himself  that  one  could  hardly  commit  a 
worse  sacrilege,  and  that  some  time  he  would  surely  be 
called  to  account  for  it.  But  here  ^e  checked  himself 
suddenly,  not  daring  to  go  further.  One  would  have  no 
peace  of  mind  left  if  one  went  on  brooding  over  such  things 
in  this  fashion.  He  realized  the  enormity  of  what  he  had 


66  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

done.  He  had  tried  to  be  sorry  for  it.  It  was  perhaps 
the  worst  thing  he  had  ever  done,  but  now  he  had  reached 
the  lowest  point.  He  would  take  care  never  to  do  such  a 
thing  again.  After  this  he  would  be  better. 

But  this  was  not  so.  Unconsciously,  Vandover  had 
shut  a  door  behind  him;  he  would  never  again  be  exactly 
the  same,  and  the  keeping  of  his  appointment  with  Turner 
Ravis  that  Sunday  morning  was,  as  it  were,  a  long  step 
onward  in  his  progress  of  ruin  and  pollution. 

He  shook  himself  as  though  relieving  his  shoulders  of  a 
weight.  The  model  in  the  life-class  had  just  been  posed 
for  the  week,  and  the  others  had  begun  work.  The  model 
for  that  week  was  a  woman,  a  fact  that  pleased  Vandover, 
for  he  drew  these  nude  women  better  than  any  one  in  the 
school,  perhaps  better  than  any  one  in  the  city.  Portrait 
work  and  the  power  to  catch  subtle  intellectual  distinc 
tions  in  a  face  were  sometimes  beyond  him,  but  his  feeling 
for  the  flesh,  and  for  the  movement  and  character  of  a  pose, 
was  admirable. 

He  set  himself  to  work.  Holding  his  stick  of  charcoal 
toward  the  model  at  arm's-length,  he  measured  off  the 
heads,  five  in  all,  and  laid  off  an  equal  number  of  spaces 
upon  his  paper.  After  this,  by  aid  of  his  mirror,  he  studied 
the  general  character  of  the  pose  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
Then,  with  a  few  strokes  of  his  charcoal  he  laid  off  his 
larger  construction  lines  with  a  freedom  and  a  precision 
that  were  excellent.  Upon  these  lines  he  made  a  second 
drawing  a  little  more  detailed,  though  as  yet  everything 
was  blocked  in,  angularly  and  roughly.  Then,  putting  a 
thin  flat  edge  upon  his  charcoal,  he  started  the  careful 
and  finished  outline. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  67 

By  the  end  of  an  hour  the  first  sketch  of  his  drawing 
was  complete.  It  was  astonishingly  good,  vigorous  and 
solid;  better  than  all,  it  had  that  feeling  for  form  that 
makes  just  the  difference  between  the  amateur  and  the 
genuine  artist. 

By  this  time  Vandover's  interest  began  to  flag.  Four 
times  he  had  drawn  and  redrawn  the  articulation  of  the 
model's  left  shoulder.  As  she  stood,  turned  sideways  to 
him,  one  hand  on  her  hip,  the  deltoid  muscle  was  at  once 
contracted  and  foreshortened.  It  was  a  difficult  bit  of 
anatomy  to  draw.  Vandover  was  annoyed  at  his  ill  suc 
cess  —  such  close  attention  and  continued  effort  wearied 
him  a  little  —  the  room  was  overheated  and  close,  and 
the  gas  stove,  which  was  placed  near  the  throne  to  warm 
the  model,  leaked  and  filled  the  room  with  a  nasty  brassy 
smell.  Vandover  remembered  that  the  previous  week 
he  had  been  looking  over  some  old  bound  copies  of  V Art 
in  the  Mechanics  Library  and  had  found  them  of  absorbing 
interest.  There  was  a  pleasant  corner  and  a  huge  com 
fortable  chair  near  where  they  were  in  the  reading-room, 
and  from  the  window  one  could  occasionally  look  out  upon 
the  street.  It  was  a  quiet  spot,  and  he  would  not  be  dis 
turbed  all  the  morning.  The  idea  was  so  attractive  that 
he  put  away  his  portfolio  and  drawing  things  and  went  out. 

For  an  hour  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of 
VArt,  excusing  his  indolence  by  telling  himself  that  it  was 
all  in  his  profession  and  was  not  time  lost.  A  reproduc 
tion  of  a  picture  by  Gerome  gave  him  some  suggestions 
for  the  "  Last  Enemy, "  which  he  noted  very  carefully. 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  rustle  of  starched  skirts  and  a 
voice  thkt  &aid : 


68  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

"Why,  hello,  Van!" 

He  looked  up  quickly  to  see  a  young  girl  of  about  twenty 
dressed  in  a  black  close-fitting  bolero  jacket  of  imitation 
astrakhan  with  big  leg-of-mutton  sleeves,  a  striped  silk 
skirt,  and  a  very  broad  hat  tilted  to  one  side.  Her 
hair  was  very  blond,  though  coarse  and  dry  from  being 
bleached,  and  a  little  flat  curl  of  it  lay  very  low  on 
her  forehead.  She  was  marvellously  pretty.  Vandover 
was  delighted. 

"Why,  Ida\"  he  exclaimed,  holding  her  hand;  "it's 
awfully  nice  to  see  you  here;  won't  you  sit  down?"  and  he 
pushed  his  chair  toward  her. 

But  Ida  Wade  said  no,  she  had  just  come  in  after  a  new 
book,  and  of  course  it  had  to  be  out.  But  where  had  he 
kept  himself  so  long?  That  was  the  way  he  threw  off  on  her; 
ah,  yes,  he  was  going  with  Miss  Ravis  now  and  wouldn't 
look  at  any  one  else. 

Vandover  protested  against  this,  and  Ida  Wade  went  on 
to  ask  him  why  he  couldn't  come  up  to  call  on  her  that 
very  night,  adding: 

"We  might  go  to  the  Tivoli  or  somewhere."  All  at 
once  she  interrupted  herself,  laughing,  "Oh,  I  heard  all 
about  you  the  other  night.  '  Cherries  are  ripe! '  You  and 
the  boys  painted  the  town  red,  didn't  you?  Ah,  Van, 
I'm  right  on  to  you! " 

She  would  not  tell  him  how  she  heard,  but  took  herself 
off,  laughing  and  reminding  him  to  come  up  early. 

Ida  Wade  belonged  to  a  certain  type  of  young  girl  that 
was  very  common  in  the  city.  She  was  what  men,  among 
each  other,  called  "gay,"  though  that  was  the  worst  that 
could  be  said  of  her.  She  was  virtuous,  but  the  very  fact 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  69 

that  it  was  necessary  to  say  so  was  enough  to  cause  the 
statement  to  be  doubted.  When  she  was  younger  and 
had  been  a  pupil  at  the  Girls'  High  School,  she  had  known 
and  had  even  been  the  companion  of  such  girls  as  Turner 
Ravis  and  Henrietta  Vance,  but  since  that  time  girls  of 
that  class  had  ignored  her.  Now,  almost  all  of  her  ac 
quaintances  were  men,  and  to  half  of  these  she  had  never 
been  introduced.  They  had  managed  to  get  acquainted 
with  her  on  Kearney  Street,  at  theatres,  at  the  Mechanics' 
Fair,  and  at  baseball  games.  She  loved  to  have  a  "gay" 
time,  which  for  her  meant  to  drink  California  champagne, 
to  smoke  cigarettes,  and  to  kick  at  the  chandelier.  She 
was  still  virtuous  and  meant  to  stay  so ;  there  was  nothing 
vicious  about  her,  and  she  was  as  far  removed  from  Flos 
sie's  class  as  from  that  of  Turner  Ravis. 

She  was  very  clever;  half  of  her  acquaintances,  even  the 
men,  did  not  know  how  very  "gay"  she  was.  Only  those 
—  like  Vandover  —  who  knew  her  best,  knew  her  for 
what  she  was,  for  Ida  was  morbidly  careful  of  appearances, 
and  as  jealous  of  her  reputation  as  only  fast  girls  are. 

Bessie  Laguna  was  her  counterpart.  Bessie  was  "the 
girl  she  went  with,"  just  as  Henrietta  Vance  was  Turner's 
"chum"  and  Nannie  was  Flossie's  "running-mate." 

Ida  lived  with  her  people  on  Golden  Gate  Avenue  not 
far  from  Larkin  Street.  Her  father  had  a  three-fourths 
interest  in  a  carpet-cleaning  establishment  on  Howard 
Street,  and  her  mother  gave  lessons  in  painting  on  china 
and  on  velvet.  Ida  had  just  been  graduated  from  the 
normal  school,  and  often  substituted  at  various  kinder 
gartens  in  the  city.  She  hoped  soon  to  get  a  permanent 
place. 


70  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Vandover  arrived  at  Ida's  house  that  night  at  about 
eight  o'clock  in  the  midst  of  a  drenching  fog.  The  par 
lour  and  front  room  on  the  second  floor  were  furnished 
with  bay  windows  decorated  with  some  meaningless  sort 
of  millwork.  The  front  door  stood  at  the  right  of  the 
parlour  windows.  Two  Corinthian  pillars  on  either  side 
of  the  vestibule  supported  a  balcony;  these  pillars  had  iron 
capitals  which  were  painted  to  imitate  the  wood  of  the 
house,  which  in  its  turn  was  painted  to  imitate  stone. 
The  house  was  but  two  stories  high,  and  the  roof  was 
topped  with  an  iron  cresting.  There  was  a  microscopical 
front  yard  in  which  one  saw  a  tiny  gravel  walk,  two  steps 
long,  that  led  to  a  door  under  the  front  steps,  where  the 
gas-meter  was  kept.  A  few  dusty  and  straggling  calla- 
lilies  grew  about. 

Ida  opened  the  door  for  Vandover  almost  as  soon  as  he 
rang,  and  pulled  him  into  the  entry,  exclaiming:  "Come 
in  out  of  the  wet,  as  the  whale  said  to  Jonah.  Isn't  it  a 
nasty  night?"  Vandover  noticed  as  he  came  in  that  the 
house  smelt  of  upholstery,  cooking,  and  turpentine.  He 
did  not  take  off  his  overcoat,  but  went  with  her  into  the 
parlour. 

The  parlour  was  a  little  room  with  tinted  plaster  walls 
shut  off  from  the  "back-parlour"  by  sliding  doors.  A 
ply  carpet  covered  the  floor,  a  cheap  piano  stood  across 
one  corner  of  the  room,  and  a  greenish  sofa  across  another. 
The  mantelpiece  was  of  white  marble  with  gray  spots; 
on  one  side  of  it  stood  an  Alaskan  "grass  basket"  full  of 
photographs,  and  on  the  other  an  inverted  section  of  a 
sewer-pipe  painted  with  daisies  and  full  of  gilded  cat 
tails  tied  with  a  blue  ribbon.  Near  the  piano  straddled  a 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  71 

huge  easel  of  imitation  brass  upholding  the  crayon  picture 
of  Ida's  baby  sister  enlarged  from  a  photograph.  Across 
one  corner  of  this  picture  was  a  yellow  "drape."  There 
were  a  great  many  of  these  "drapes"  all  about  the  room, 
hanging  over  the  corners  of  the  chairs,  upon  an  edge  of  the 
mantelpiece,  and  even  twisted  about  the  chandelier.  In 
the  exact  middle  of  the  mantelpiece  itself  was  the  clock, 
one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  the  room,  almost  the  first 
thing  one  saw  upon  entering;  it  was  a  round-faced  time 
piece  perversely  set  in  one  corner  of  an  immense  red  plush 
palette;  the  palette  itself  was  tilted  to  one  side,  and  was 
upheld  by  an  easel  of  twisted  brass  wire.  Out  of  the 
thumb-hole  stuck  half  a  dozen  brushes  wired  together  in 
a  round  bunch  and  covered  with  gilt  paint.  The  clock 
never  was  wound.  It  went  so  fast  that  it  was  useless  as 
a  timepiece.  Over  it,  however,  hung  a  large  and  striking 
picture,  a  species  of  cheap  photogravure,  a  lion  lying  in 
his  cage,  looking  mildly  at  the  spectator  over  his  shoulder. 
In  front  of  the  picture  were  real  iron  bars,  with  real 
straw  tucked  in  behind  them. 

Ida  sat  down  on  the  piano  stool,  twisting  back  and  forth, 
leaning  her  elbows  on  the  keys. 

"All  the  folks  have  gone  out  to  a  whist-party,  and  I'm 
left  all  alone  in  the  house  with  Maggie,"  she  said.  Then 
she  added:  "Bessie  and  Bandy  Ellis  said  they  would  come 
down  to-night,  and  I  thought  we  could  all  go  downtown 
to  the  Tivoli  or  somewhere,  in  the  open-air  boxes,  you 
know,  way  up  at  the  top."  Hardly  had  she  spoken  the 
words  when  Bessie  and  Ellis  arrived. 

Ida  went  upstairs  to  get  on  her  hat  at  once,  because  it 
was  so  late,  and  Bessie  went  with  her. 


72  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Ellis  and  Vandover  laughed  as  soon  as  they  saw  each 
other,  and  Ellis  exclaimed  mockingly,  "Ye-e-ow,  thash 
jush  way  I  feel."  Vandover  grinned : 

"That's  so,"  he  answered.  "I  do  remember  now  of 
having  made  that  remark  several  times.  But  you  —  oh, 
you  were  fearful.  Do  you  remember  the  row  in  the  Lux 
embourg  ?  Look  there  where  you  bit  me. ' ' 

Ellis  was  incensed  with  Geary  because  he  had  forsaken 
their  party. 

"Oh,  that's  Charlie  Geary,  all  over,"  answered  Van 
dover. 

As  they  were  speaking  there  came  a  sudden  outburst  of 
bells  in  various  parts  of  the  city  and  simultaneously  they 
heard  the  hoarse  croaking  of  a  whistle  down  by  the  water 
front. 

"Fire,"  said  Vandover  indifferently. 

Ellis  was  already  fumbling  in  his  pockets,  keeping  count 
of  the  strokes. 

"That's  one,"  he  exclaimed,  pulling  out  and  studying 
his  list  of  alarm-boxes,  "and  one-two-three,  that's  three 
and  one-two- three-/owr,  one  thirty-four.  Let's  see  now! 
That's  Bush  and  Hyde  streets,  not  very  far  off,"  and  he 
returned  his  card  to  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  as  though 
he  had  accomplished  a  duty. 

He  lit  a  cigar.  "I  wonder  now,"  he  said,  hesitating. 
"  I  guess  I  better  not  smoke  in  here.  I'll  go  outside  and 
get  a  mouthful  of  smoke  before  the  girls  come  down." 
He  went  out  and  Vandover  sat  down  to  the  cheap  piano 
and  played  his  three  inevitable  pieces,  the  two  polkas  and 
the  air  of  the  topical  song;  but  he  was  interrupted  by 
Ellis,  who  opened  the  door,  crying  out: 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  73 

"Oh,  come  out  here  and  see  the  fire,  will  you?  Devil 
of  a  blaze ! "  Vandover  ran  out  and  saw  a  great  fan-shaped 
haze  of  red  through  the  fog  over  the  roofs  of  the  houses. 

"Oh,  say,  girls,"  he  shouted,  jumping  back  to  the  foot 
of  the  stairs;  "Ida,  Bessie,  there's  a  fire.  Just  look  out  of 
your  windows.  Hark,  there  go  the  engines." 

Bessie  came  tearing  down  the  stairs  and  out  on  the 
front  steps,  where  the  two  fellows  were  standing  hatless. 

"Where?  Oh,  show  me  where!  O-o-oh,  sure  enough! 
That's  a  big  fire.  Just  hear  the  engines.  Oh,  let's  go!  " 

"  Sure;  come  on,  let's  go ! "  exclaimed  Vandover.  " Tell 
Ida  to  hurry  up." 

"Oh,  Ida,"  cried  Bessie  up  the  stairs,  "there's  an  awful 
big  fire  right  near  here,  and  we're  going." 

"Oh,  wait!"  shouted  Ida,  her  mouth  full  of  pins.  "I 
had  to  change  my  waist.  Oh,  do  wait  for  me.  Where  is 
it  at?  Please  wait;  I'm  coming  right  down  in  just  a 
minute." 

"  Hurry  up,  hurry  up ! "  cried  Vandover.  "  It  will  be  all 
out  by  the  time  we  get  there.  I'm  coming  up  to  help. " 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  screamed.  "Don't;  you  rattle  me. 
I'm  all  mixed  up.  Oh,  darn  it,  I  can't  find  my  czarina ! " 

But  at  last  she  came  running  down,  breathless,  shrug 
ging  herself  into  her  bolero  jacket.  They  all  hurried  into 
the  street  and  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  blaze.  Other 
people  were  walking  rapidly  in  the  same  direction,  and 
there  was  an  opening  and  shutting  of  windows  and  front 
doors.  A  steamer  thundered  past,  clanging  and  smoking, 
followed  by  a  score  of  half -exhausted  boys.  It  took  them 
longer  to  reach  the  fire  than  they  expected,  and  by  the  time 
they  had  come  within  two  blocks  of  it  they  were  quite  out 


74  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

of  breath.  Here  the  excitement  was  lively;  the  sidewalks 
were  full  of  people  going  in  the  same  direction;  on  all  sides 
there  were  guesses  as  to  where  the  fire  was.  On  the  front 
steps  of  many  houses  stood  middle-aged  gentlemen,  still 
holding  their  evening  papers  and  cigars,  very  amused  and 
interested  in  watching  the  crowd  go  past.  One  heard 
them  from  time  to  time  calling  to  their  little  sons,  who 
were  dancing  on  the  sidewalks,  forbidding  them  to  go;  in 
the  open  windows  above  could  be  seen  the  other  members 
of  the  family,  their  faces  faintly  tinged  with  the  glow, 
looking  and  pointing,  or  calling  across  the  street  to  their 
friends  in  the  opposite  houses.  Every  one  was  in  good 
humour;  it  was  an  event,  a  fete  for  the  entire  neighbour 
hood. 

Vandover  and  his  party  came  at  last  to  the  first  engines 
violently  pumping  and  coughing,  the  huge  gray  horses 
standing  near  by,  already  unhitched  and  blanketed,  in 
differently  feeding  in  their  nosebags.  Some  of  the  crowd 
preferred  to  watch  the  engines  rather  than  the  fire,  and 
there  were  even  some  who  were  coming  away  from  it, 
exclaiming  "false  alarm"  or  "all  out  now." 

The  party  had  come  up  quite  close;  they  could  smell  the 
burning  wood  and  could  see  the  roofs  of  the  nearer  houses 
beginning  to  stand  out  sharp  and  black  against  the  red 
glow  beyond.  It  was  a  barn  behind  a  huge  frame  house 
that  was  afire,  the  dry  hay  burning  like  powder,  and  by 
the  time  they  reached  it  the  flames  were  already  dwindling. 
The  hose  was  lying  like  a  python  all  about  the  streets, 
while  upon  the  neighbouring  roofs  were  groups  of  firemen 
with  helmets  and  axes;  some  were  shouting  into  the  street 
below,  and  others  were  holding  the  spouting  nozzles  of  the 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  75 

hose.  "Ah,"  exclaimed  an  old  man,  standing  near  to 
Ida  and  Vandover,  "ah,  /  was  here  when  it  first  broke 
out;  you  ought  to  have  seen  the  flames  then!  Look, 
there's  a  tree  catching ! " 

The  crowd  became  denser;  policemen  pushed  it  back 
and  stretched  a  rope  across  the  street.  There  was  a 
world  of  tumbling  yellow  smoke  that  made  one's  eyes 
smart,  and  a  great  crackling  and  snapping  of  flames. 
Terribly  excited  little  boys  were  about  everywhere  whis 
tling  and  calling  for  each  other  as  the  crowd  separated 
them. 

They  watched  the  fire  for  some  time,  standing  on  a  pile 
of  boards  in  front  of  a  half -built  house,  but  as  it  dwindled 
they  wearied  of  it. 

"  Want  to  go?  "  asked  Vandover  at  last. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ida,  "we  might  as  well.  Oh,  where's 
Bessie  and  Ellis?  "  They  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Van 
dover  whistled  and  Ida  even  called,  but  in  vain.  The 
little  boys  in  the  crowd  mimicked  Ida,  crying  back,  "Hey ! 
Bessie!  Oh,  Bes-see,  mommer  wants  you!"  The  men 
who  stood  near  laughed  at  this,  but  it  annoyed  Vandover 
much  more  than  it  did  Ida. 

"Ah,  well,  never  mind,"  she  said  at  length.  "Let 
them  go.  Now  shall  we  go  ?  " 

It  was  too  late  for  the  theatre,  but  to  return  home  was 
out  of  the  question.  They  started  off  aimlessly  downtown. 

While  he  talked  Vandover  was  perplexed.  Ida  was 
gayly  dressed  and  was  one  of  those  girls  who  cannot  open 
their  mouths  nor  raise  a  finger  in  the  street  without  at 
tracting  attention.  Vandover  was  not  at  all  certain  that 
he  cared  to  be  seen  on  Kearney  Street  as  Ida  Wade's  escort; 


76  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

one  never  knew  who  one  was  going  to  meet.  Ida  was  not 
a  bad  girl,  she  was  not  notorious,  but,  confound  it,  it 
would  look  queer;  and  at  the  same  time,  while  Ida  was  the 
kind  of  girl  that  one  did  not  want  to  be  seen  with,  she  was 
not  the  kind  of  girl  that  could  be  told  so.  In  an  upper 
box  at  the  Tivoli  it  would  have  been  different  —  one  could 
keep  in  the  background;  but  to  appear  on  Kearney  Street 
with  a  girl  who  wore  a  hat  like  that  and  who  would  not 
put  on  her  gloves  —  ah,  no,  it  was  out  of  the  question. 

Ida  was  talking  away  endlessly  about  a  kindergarten 
in  which  she  had  substituted  the  last  week. 

She  told  him  about  the  funny  little  nigger  girl,  and  about 
the  games  and  songs  and  how  they  played  birds  and  hopped 
around  and  cried,  "Twit,  twit,"  and  the  game  of  the 
butterflies  visiting  the  flowers.  She  even  sang  part  of  a 
song  about  the  waves. 

"Every  little  wave  had  its  night-cap  on; 
Its  white-cap,  night-cap,  white-cap  on." 

"  It's  more/wn  than  enough,"  she  said. 

"Say,  Ida,"  interrupted  Vandover  at  length,  "I'm 
pretty  hungry.  Can't  we  go  somewhere  and  eat  some 
thing?  I'd  like  a  Welsh  rabbit." 

"All  right,"  she  answered.     "Where  do  you  want  to 
go?" 

"Well,"  replied  Vandover,  running  over  in  his  mind  the 
places  he  might  reach  by  unfrequented  streets.  "There's 
Marchand's  or  Tortoni's  or  the  Poodle  Dog." 

"Suits  me,"  she  answered,  "any  one  you  like.  Say, 
Van,"  she  added,  "weren't  you  boys  at  the  Imperial  the 
other  night?  What  kind  of  a  place  is  that?  " 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  77 

On  the  instant  Vandover  wondered  what  she  could 
mean.  Was  it  possible  that  Ida  would  go  to  a  place  like 
that  with  him? 

"The  Imperial?"  he  answered.  "Oh,  I  don't  know; 
the  Imperial  is  a  sort  of  a  nice  place.  It  has  private 
rooms,  like  all  of  these  places.  The  cooking  is  simply  out 
of  sight.  I  think  there  is  a  bar  connected  with  it."  Then 
he  went  on  to  talk  indifferently  about  the  kindergarten, 
though  his  pulse  was  beating  fast,  and  his  nerves  were 
strung  taut.  By  and  by  Ida  said : 

"I  didn't  know  there  was  a  bar  at  the  Imperial.  I 
thought  it  was  just  some  kind  of  an  oyster  joint.  Why, 
I  heard  of  a  very  nice  girl,  a  swell  girl,  going  in  there." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Vandoyer,  "they  do.  I  say,  Ida,"  he 
went  on,  "what's  the  matter  with  going  down  there?  " 

"The  Imperial?"  exclaimed  Ida.     "Well,  I  guess  not!" 

"  Why,  it's  all  right,  if  I'm  with  you,"  retorted  Vandover, 
"  but  if  you  don't  like  it  we  can  go  anywhere  else." 

"Well,  I  guess  we  will  go  anywhere  else,"  returned  Ida, 
and  for  the  time  the  subject  was  dropped. 

They  took  a  Sutter  Street  car  and  got  off  at  Grant 
Avenue,  having  decided  to  go  to  Marchand's. 

"That's  the  Imperial  down  there,  isn't  it?"  asked  Ida 
as  they  reached  the  sidewalk.  Vandover  made  a  last 
attempt : 

"I  say,  Ida,  come  on,  let's  go  there.  It's  all  right  if 
I'm  with  you.  Ah,  come  along;  what's  the  odds?  " 

"No  —  no  —  NO,"  she  answered  decisively.  "What 
kind  of  a  girl  do  you  think  I  am,  anyway?  " 

"Well,  I  tell  you  what,"  answered  Vandover,  "just 
come  down  by  the  place,  and  if  you  don't  like  the  looks 


78  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

of  it  you  needn't  go  in.  I  want  to  get  some  cigarettes, 
anyhow.  You  can  walk  down  with  me  till  I  do  that" 

"I'll  walk  down  with  you,"  replied  Ida,  "but  I  shan't 
go  in." 

They  drew  near  to  the  Imperial.  The  street  about 
was  deserted,  even  the  usual  hacks  that  had  their  stand 
there  were  gone. 

"You  see,"  explained  Vandover  as  they  passed  slowly 
in  front  of  the  doors,  "this  is  all  quiet  enough.  If  you 
pulled  down  your  veil  no  one  would  know  the  difference, 
and  here's  the  ladies'  entrance,  you  see,  right  at  the  side." 

"All  right,  come  along,  let's  go  in,"  exclaimed  Ida  sud 
denly,  and  before  he  knew  it  they  had  swung  open  the 
little  door  of  the  ladies'  entrance  with  its  frosted  pane  of 
glass  and  had  stepped  inside. 

It  was  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock,  and  the  Imperial 
was  quiet  as  yet;  a  few  men  were  drinking  in  the  barroom 
outside,  and  Toby,  the  red-eyed  waiter,  was  talking  in 
low  tones  to  a  girl  under  one  of  the  electric  lights. 

Vandover  and  Ida  went  into  one  of  the  larger  rooms  in 
the  rear  passage  and  shut  the  door.  Ida  pushed  her 
bolero  jacket  from  her  shoulders,  saying,  "This  seems 
nice  and  quiet  enough." 

"Well,  of  course,"  answered  Vandover,  as  though  dis 
missing  the  question  for  good.  "  Now,  what  are  we  going 
to  have  ?  I  say  we  have  champagne  and  oysters. ' ' 

"Let's  have  Cliquot,  then,"  exclaimed  Ida,  which  was 
the  only  champagne  she  had  ever  heard  of  besides  the 
California  brands. 

She  was  very  excited.  This  was  the  kind  of  "gay" 
time  she  delighted  in,  tete-a-tete  champagne  suppers  with 


VANDOVER  AND   THE  BRUTE  79 

men  late  at  night.  She  had  never  been  in  such  a  place 
as  the  Imperial  before,  and  the  daring  and  novelty  of 
what  she  had  done,  the  whiff  of  the  great  citv's  vice  caught 
in  this  manner,  sent  a  little  tremor  of  pleasure  and  excite 
ment  over  all  her  nerves.  \ 

They  did  not  hurry  over  their  little  supper,  but  ate  and 
drank  slowly,  and  had  more  oysters  to  go  with  the  last 
half  of  their  bottle.  Ida's  face  was  ablaze,  her  eyes  flash 
ing,  her  blond  hair  disordered  and  falling  about  her  cheeks. 

Vandover  put  his  arm  about  her  neck  and  drew  her 
toward  him,  and  as  she  sank  down  upon  him,  smiling  and 
complaisant,  her  hair  tumbling  upon  her  shoulders  and 
her  head  and  throat  bent  back,  he  leaned  his  cheek  against 
hers,  speaking  in  a  low  voice. 

"No  —  no,"  she  murmured,  smiling;  "never  —  ah,  if 

I  hadn't  come  —  no,  Van  —  please "  And  then  with 

a  long  breath  she  abandoned  herself. 

About  midnight  he  left  her  at  the  door  of  her  house  on 
Golden  Gate  Avenue.  On  their  way  home  Ida  had  grown 
more  serious  than  he  had  ever  known  her  to  be.  Now  she 
began  to  cry  softly  to  herself.  "Oh,  Van,"  she  said,  put 
ting  her  head  down  upon  his  shoulder,  "oh,  I  am  so  sorry. 
You  don't  think  any  less  of  me,  do  you?  Oh,  Van,  you 
must  be  true  to  me  now :  '"' 


CHAPTER  SIX 

EVERYBODY  in  San  Francisco  knew  of  the  Ravises  and 
always  made  it  a  point  to  speak  of  them  as  one  of  the  best 
families  of  the  city.  They  were  not  new  and  they  were 
not  particularly  rich.  They  had  lived  in  the  same  house 
on  California  Street  for  nearly  twenty  years  and  had 
always  been  comfortably  well  off.  As  things  go  in  San 
Francisco,  they  were  old-fashioned.  They  had  family 
traditions  and  usages  and  time-worn  customs.  Their 
library  had  been  in  process  of  collection  for  the  past  half 
century  and  the  pictures  on  the  walls  were  oil  paintings  of 
steel  engravings  and  genuine  old-fashioned  chromos,  be 
yond  price  to-day. 

Their  furniture  and  ornaments  were  of  the  preceding 
generation,  solid,  conservative.  They  were  not  chosen 
with  reference  to  any  one  style,  nor  all  bought  at  the  same 
time.  Each  separate  piece  had  an  individuality  of  its 
own.  The  Ravises  kept  their  old  things,  long  after  the 
fashion  had  gone  out,  preferring  them  to  the  smarter  "  art " 
objects  on  account  of  their  associations. 

There  were  six  in  the  family,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ravis,  Tur 
ner,  and  her  older  brother,  Stanley,  Yale  '88,  a  very  serious 
young  gentleman  of  twenty-seven,  continually  professing 
an  interest  in  economics  and  finance.  Besides  these 
were  the  two  children,  Howard,  nine  years  old,  and  his 
sister,  aged  fourteen,  who  had  been  christened  Virginia. 

They  were  a  home-loving  race.  Mr.  Ravis,  senior, 

80 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  81 

belonged  to  the  Bohemian  Club,  but  was  seldom  seen 
there.  Stanley  was  absorbed  in  his  law  business,  and 
Turner  went  out  but  little.  They  much  preferred  each 
other's  society  to  that  of  three  fourths  of  their  acquain 
tances,  nost  of  their  friends  being  "friends  of  the  family,'* 
who  came  to  dinner  three  or  four  times  a  year. 

It  was  a  custom  of  theirs  to  spend  the  evenings  in  the 
big  dining-room  at  the  back  of  the  house,  after  the  table 
had  been  cleared  away,  Mr.  Ravis  and  Stanley  reading 
the  papers,  the  one  smoking  his  cigar,  the  other  his  pipe; 
Mrs.  Ravis,  with  the  magazines  and  Turner  with  the 
Chautauquan.  Howard  and  Virginia  appropriated  the 
table  to  themselves  where  they  played  with  their  soldiers 
and  backgammon  board. 

The  family  kept  two  servants,  June  the  "China  boy," 
who  had  been  with  thern  since  the  beginning  of  things,  and 
Delphine  the  cook,  a  more  recent  acquisition.  June  was, 
in  a  way,  butler  and  second  boy  combined;  he  did  all  the 
downstairs  work  and  the  heavy  sweeping,  but  it  was 
another  time  worn  custom  for  Mrs.  Ravis  and  Turner  to 
spend  part  of  every  morning  in  putting  the  bedrooms  to 
rights,  dusting  and  making  up  the  beds.  Besides  this, 
Turner  exercised  a  sort  of  supervision  over  Howard  and 
Virginia,  who  were  too  old  for  a  nurse  but  too  young  to 
take  care  of  themselves.  She  had  them  to  bed  at  nine, 
mended  some  of  their  clothes,  made  them  take  their  baths 
regularly,  reestablished  peace  between  them  in  their  hourly 
quarrels,  and,  most  arduous  task  of  all,  saw  that  Howard 
properly  washed  himself  every  morning,  and  on  Wednes 
day  and  Saturday  afternoons  that  he  was  suitably  dressed 
in  time  for  dancing  school. 


82  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon.  Mrs.  Ravis  was  reading  to 
her  husband,  who  lay  on  the  sofa  in  the  back-parlour 
smoking  a  cigar.  Stanley  had  gone  out  to  make  a  call, 
while  Howard  and  Virginia  had  forgathered  in  the  bath 
room  to  sail  their  boats  and  cigar  boxes  in  the  tub.  To 
ward  half-past  three,  as  Turner  was  in  her  room  writing 
letters,  the  door-bell  rang.  She  stopped,  with  her  pen 
in  the  air,  wondering  if  it  might  be  Vandover.  It  was 
June's  afternoon  out.  In  a  few  minutes  the  bell  rang 
again,  and  Turner  ran  down  to  answer  it  herself,  inter 
cepting  Delphine,  who  took  June's  place  on  these  occa 
sions,  but  who  was  hopelessly  stupid. 

Mrs.  Ravis  had  peered  out  through  the  curtains  of  the 
parlour  window  to  see  who  it  was,  and  Turner  met  her 
and  Mr.  Ravis  coming  upstairs,  abandoning  the  parlour 
to  Turner's  caller. 

"Mamma  and  I  are  going  upstairs  to  read,"  explained 
Mr.  Ravis.  "  It's  some  one  of  your  young  men.  You  can 
bring  him  right  in  the  parlour." 

"  I  think  it's  Mr.  Haight,"  said  Turner's  mother.  "  Ask 
him  to  stay  to  tea." 

"Well,  "said  Turner  doubtfully,  as  she  paused  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  "I  will,  but  you  know  we  never  have 
anything  to  speak  of  for  Sunday  evening  tea.  June  is 
out,  and  you  know  how  clumsy  and  stupid  Delphine  is 
when  she  waits  on  the  table." 

It  was  young  Haight.  Turner  was  very  glad  to  see 
him,  for  next  to  Vandover  she  liked  him  better  than  any 
of  the  others.  She  was  never  bored  by  being  obliged  to 
entertain  him,  and  he  always  had  something  to  say  and 
some  clever  way  of  saying  it. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  83 

About  half-past  five,  as  they  were  talking  about  ama 
teur  photography,  Mrs.  Ravis  came  in  and  called  them 
to  tea. 

Tea  with  the  Ravises  was  the  old-fashioned  tea  of 
twenty  years  ago.  One  never  saw  any  of  the  modern 
"delicacies"  on  their  Sunday  evening  table,  no  enticing 
cold  lunch,  no  spices,  not  even  catsups  or  pepper  sauces. 
The  turkey  or  chicken  they  had  had  for  dinner  was  served 
cold  in  slices;  there  was  canned  fruit,  preserves,  tea,  crack 
ers,  bread  and  butter,  a  large  dish  of  cold  pork  and  beans, 
and  a  huge  glass  pitcher  of  ice-water. 

In  the  absence  of  June,  Victorine  the  cook  went  through 
the  agony  of  waiting  on  the  table^  very  nervous  and  em 
barrassed  in  her  clean  calico  gown  and  starched  apron. 
Her  hands  were  red  and  knotty,  smelling  of  soap,  and  they 
touched  the  china  ware  with  an  over-zealous  and  constrain 
ing  tenderness  as  if  the  plates  and  dishes  had  been  delicate 
glass  butterflies.  She  stood  off  at  a  distance  from  the 
table  making  sudden  and  awkward  dabs  at  it.  When  it 
came  to  passing  the  plates,  she  passed  them  on  the  wrong 
side  and  remembered  herself  at  the  wrong  moment  with  a 
stammering  apology.  In  her  excess  of  politeness  she  kept 
up  a  constant  murmur  as  she  attended  to  their  wants. 
Another  fork?  Yes,  sir.  She'd  get  it  right  away,  sir.  Did 
Mrs.  Ravis  want  another  cuppa  tea?  No?  No  more  tea? 
Well,  she'd  pass  the  bread.  Some  bread,  Master  Howard? 
Nice  French  bread,  he  always  liked  that.  Some  more 
preserved  pears,  Miss  Ravis?  Yes,  miss,  she'd  get  them 
right  away;  they  were  just  over  here  on  the  sideboard. 
Yes,  here  they  were.  No  more?  Now  she'd  go  and  put 
them  back.  And  at  last  when  she  had  set  the  nerves  of 


84  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

all  of  them  in  a  jangle,  was  dismissed  to  the  kitchen  and 
retired  with  a  gasp  of  unspeakable  relief. 

Somewhat  later  in  the  evening  young  Haight  was  alone 
with  Turner,  and  their  conversation  had  taken  a  very  un 
usual  and  personal  turn.  All  at  once  Turner  exclaimed : 

"I  often  wonder  what  good  I  am  in  the  world  to  any 
body.  I  don't  know  a  thing,  I  can't  do  a  thing.  I  couldn't 
cook  the  plainest  kind  of  a  meal  to  save  me,  and  it  took  me 
all  of  two  hours  yesterday  to  do  just  a  little  buttonhole 
stitching.  I'm  not  good  for  anything.  I'm  not  a  help 
to  anybody." 

Young  Haight  looked  into  the  blue  flame  of  the  gas-log, 
almost  the  only  modern  innovation  throughout  the  entire 
house,  and  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  he  leaned  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and,  still  looking  at  the  flame,  replied : 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  You  have  been  a  consider 
able  help  to  me" 

"To  you!"  exclaimed  Turner,  surprised.  "A  help  to 
you?  Why,  how  do  you  mean  ? ' 

"Well,"  he  answered,  still  without  looking  at  her,  "one 
always  has  one's  influence,  you  know." 

"Ah,  lots  of  influence  7  have  over  anybody,"  retorted 
Turner,  incredulously. 

"Yes,  you  have,"  he  insisted.  "You  have  plenty  of 
influence  over  the  people  that  care  for  you.  You  have 
plenty  of  influence  over  me." 

Turner,  very  much  embarrassed,  and  not  knowing  how 
to  answer,  bent  down  to  the  side  of  the  mantelpiece  and 
turned  up  the  flame  of  the  gas-log  a  little.  Young  Haight 
continued,  almost  as  embarrassed  as  she : 

"I  suppose  I'm  a  bad  lot,  perhaps  a  little  worse  than 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  85 

most  others,  but  I  think  —  I  hope  —  there's  some  good 
in  me.  I  know  all  this  sounds  absurd  and  affected,  but 
really  I'm  not  posing;  you  won't  mind  if  I  speak  just  as  I 
think,  for  this  once.  I  promise,"  he  went  on  with  a  half 
smile,  "not  to  do  it  again.  You  know  my  mother  died 
when  I  was  little  and  I  have  lived  mostly  with  men.  You 
have  been  to  me  what  the  society  of  women  has  been  to 
other  fellows.  You  see,  you  are  the  only  girl  I  ever  knew 
very  well  —  the  only  one  I  ever  wanted  to  know.  I  have 
cared  for  you  the  way  other  men  have  cared  for  the  differ 
ent  women  that  come  into  their  lives;  as  they  have  cared 
for  their  mothers,  their  sisters  —  and  their  wives.  You 
have  already  influenced  me  as  a  mother  or  sister  should 
have  done;  what  if  I  should  ever  ask  you  to  be  —  to  be 
the  other  to  me,  the  one  that's  best  of  all?  " 

Young  Haight  turned  toward  her  as  he  finished  and 
looked  at  her  for  the  first  time.  Turner  was  still  very 
much  embarrassed. 

"Oh,  I'm  very  glad  if  I've  been  a  help  to  —  to  anybody 
—  to  you,"  she  said,  confusedly.  "But  I  never  knew  that 
you  cared  —  that  you  thought  about  me  —  in  that  way. 
But  you  mustn't,  you  know,  you  mustn't  care  for  me  in 
that  way.  I  ought  to  tell  you  right  away  that  I  never 
could  care  for  you  more  than  —  I  always  have  done ;  I 
mean  care  for  you  only  as  a  very,  very  good  friend.  You 
don't  know,  Dolly,"  she  went  on  eagerly,  "how  it  hurts 
me  to  tell  you  so,  because  I  care  so  much  for  you  in  every 
other  way  that  I  wouldn't  hurt  your  feelings  for  anything; 
but  then  you  know  at  the  same  time  it  would  hurt  you  a 
great  deal  more  if  I  shouldn't  tell  you,  but  encourage  you, 
and  let  you  go  on  thinking  that  perhaps  I  liked  you  more 


86  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

than  any  one  else,  when  I  didn't.  Now  wouldn't  that  be 
wrong?  You  don't  know  how  glad  it  makes  me  feel  that 
I  have  been  of  some  good  to  you,  and  that  is  just  why  I 
want  to  be  sincere  now  and  not  make  you  think  any  less 
of  me  —  think  any  worse  of  me." 

""Oh,  /  know,"  answered  young  Haight.  "I  know  I 
shouldn't  have  said  anything  about  it.  I  knew  before 
hand,  or  thought  I  knew,  that  you  didn't  care  in  that 
way." 

"  Maybe  I  have  been  wrong,"  she  replied,  "  in  not  seeing 
that  you  cared  so  much,  and  have  given  you  a  wrong  im 
pression.  I  thought  you  knew  how  it  was  all  the  time." 

"  Knew  how  what  was?  "  he  asked,  looking  up. 

"Why,"  she  said,  "knew  how  Van  and  I  were." 

"  I  knew  that  Van  cared  for  you  a  great  deal." 

"Yes,  but  you  know,"  she  went  on,  hesitating  and  con 
fused,  "you  know  we  are  engaged.  We  have  been  en 
gaged  for  nearly  two  years." 

"But  he  don't  consider  himself  as  engaged!"  The 
words  were  almost  out  of  Haight's  mouth,  but  he  shut 
his  teeth  against  them  and  kept  silence  —  he  hardly  knew 
why. 

"Suppose  Vandover  were  out  of  the  question,"  he  said, 
getting  up  and  smiling  in  order  not  to  seem  as  serious  as 
he  really  was. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  smiling  back  at  him.  "I  don't  know; 
that's  a  hard  question  to  answer.  I've  never  asked  myself 
that  question." 

"Well,  I'm  saving  you  the  trouble,  you  see,"  he  an 
swered,  still  smiling.  "  I  am  asking  it  for  you." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  answer  such  a  question  off-hand 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  87 

like  that;  how  can  I  tell?  It  would  only  be  perhaps,  just 
now." 

Young  Haight  answered  quickly  that  "just  now"  he 
would  be  contented  with  that  "perhaps";  but  Turner  did 
not  hear  this.  She  had  spoken  at  the  same  time  as  he, 
exclaiming,  "But  what  is  the  good  of  talking  of  that?  Be 
cause  no  matter  what  happened  I  feel  as  though  I  could 
not  break  my  promise  to  Van,  even  if  I  should  want  to. 
Because  I  have  talked  like  this,  Dolly,"  she  went  on  more 
seriously,  "you  must  not  be  deceived  or  get  a  wrong  im 
pression.  You  understand  how  things  are,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  answered,  still  trying  to  carry  it  off  with 
a  laugh.  "I  know,  I  know.  But  now  I  hope  you  won't 
let  anything  I  have  said  bother  you,  and  that  things  will 
go  on  just  as  if  I  hadn't  spoken,  just  as  if  nothing  had  hap 
pened." 

"Why,  of  course,"  she  said,  laughing  with  him  again. 
" Of  course,  why  shouldn't  they?  " 

They  were  both  at  their  ease  again  by  the  time  young 
Haight  stood  at  the  door  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  ready 
to  go. 

He  raised  his  free  hand  over  her  head,  and  said,  with 
burlesque,  dramatic  effect,  trying  to  keep  down  a  smile: 

"Bless  you  both;  go,  go  marry  Vandover  and  be  happy; 
I  forgive  you." 

"Ah  —  don't  be  so  utterly  absurd,"  she  cried,  beginning 
to  laugh. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

ON  A  certain  evening  about  four  months  later  Ellis  and 
Vandover  had  a  "date"  with  Ida  Wade  and  Bessie  Laguna 
at  the  Mechanics'  Fair.  Ellis,  Bessie,  and  Ida  were  to 
meet  Vandover  there  in  the  Art  Gallery,  as  he  had  to 
make  a  call  with  his  father,  and  could  not  get  there  until 
half -past  nine.  They  were  all  to  walk  about  the  Fair  until 
ten,  after  which  the  two  men  proposed  to  take  the  girls 
out  to  the  Cliff  House  in  separate  coupes.  The  whole 
thing  had  been  arranged  by  Ellis  and  Bessie,  and  Vandover 
was  irritated.  Ellis  ought  to  have  had  more  sense;  rush 
ing  the  girls  was  all  very  well,  but  everybody  went  to  the 
Mechanics'  Fair,  and  he  didn't  like  to  have  nice  girls  like 
Turner  or  Henrietta  Vance  see  him  with  chippies  like  that. 
It  was  all  very  well  for  Ellis,  who  had  no  social  position, 
but  for  him,  Vandover,  it  would  look  too  confounded 
queer.  Of  course  he  was  in  for  it  now,  and  would  have  to 
face  the  music.  You  can't  tell  a  girl  like  that  that  you're 
ashamed  to  be  seen  with  her,  but  very  likely  he  would  get 
himself  into  a  regular  box  with  it  all. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Mechanics'  Pavilion,  it  was 
about  twenty  minutes  of  ten,  and  as  he  pushed  through 
the  wicket  he  let  himself  into  a  huge  amphitheatre  full  of 
colour  and  movement. 

There  was  a  vast  shuffling  of  thousands  of  feet  and  a 
subdued  roar  of  conversation  like  the  noise  of  a  great 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  89 

mill;  mingled  with  these  were  the  purring  of  distant 
machinery,  the  splashing  of  a  temporary  fountain  and 
the  rhythmic  clamour  of  a  brass  band,  while  in  the  piano 
exhibit  the  hired  performer  was  playing  a  concert-grand 
with  a  great  flourish.  Nearer  at  hand  one  could  catch 
ends  of  conversation  and  notes  of  laughter,  the  creaking 
of  boots,  and  the  rustle  of  moving  dresses  and  stiff 
skirts.  Here  and  there  groups  of  school  children  el 
bowed  their  way  through  the  crowd,  crying  shrilly,  their 
hands  full  of  advertisement  pamphlets,  fans,  picture 
cards,  and  toy  whips  with  pewter  whistles  on  the  butts, 
while  the  air  itself  was  full  of  the  smell  of  fresh  popcorn. 
Ellis  and  Bessie  were  in  the  Art  Gallery  upstairs.  Mrs. 
Wade,  Ida's  mother,  who  gave  lessons  in  hand  painting, 
had  an  exhibit  there  which  they  were  interested  to  find; 
a  bunch  of  yellow  poppies  painted  on  velvet  and  framed 
in  gilt.  They  stood  before  it  some  little  time  hazarding 
their  opinions  and  then  moved  on  from  one  picture  to 
another;  Ellis  bought  a  catalogue  and  made  it  a  duty  to 
find  the  title  of  every  picture.  Bessie  professed  to  be 
very  fond  of  painting;  she  had  '  taken  it  up'  at  one  time 
and  had  abandoned  it,  only  because  the  oil  or  turpentine 
or  something  was  unhealthy  for  her.  "Of  course,"  she 
said,  "I'm  no  critic,  I  only  know  what  I  like.  Now  that 
one  over  there,  I  like  that.  I  think  those  ideal  heads  like 
that  are  lovely,  don't  you,  Bandy?  Oh,  there's  Van!" 
"Hello!"  said  Vandover,  coming  up.  "Where's  Ida?" 
"Hello,  Van!"  answered  Bessie.  "Ida  wouldn't  come. 
Isn't  it  too  mean?  She  said  she  couldn't  come  because 
she  had  a  cold,  but  she  was  just  talking  through  her  face, 
I  know.  She's  just  got  kind  of  a  streak  on  and  you  can't 


90  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

get  anything  out  of  her.  You  two  haven't  had  a  row, 
have  you?  Well,  I  didn't  think  you  had.  But  she's  wor 
ried  about  something  or  other.  I  don't  believe  she's  been 
out  of  the  house  this  week.  But  isn't  it  mean  of  her  to 
throw  cold  water  on  the  procession  like  this?  She's  been 
giving  me  a  lecture,  too,  and  says  she's  going  to  reform." 

"Well,"  said  Vandover,  greatly  relieved,  "that's  too 
bad.  We  could  have  had  a  lot  of  fun  to-night.  I'm 
awfully  sorry.  Well,  what  are  you  two  going  to  do?  " 

"Oh,  I  guess  we'll  follow  out  our  part  of  the  programme," 
said  Ellis.  "You  are  kind  of  left  out,  though." 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Vandover.  "Maybe  I'll  go 
downtown,  and  see  if  I  can  find  some  of  the  boys." 

"Oh,  Dolly  Haight  is  around  here  somewheres,"  said 
Ellis.  "  We  saw  him  just  now  over  by  the  chess  machine." 

"I  guess  I'll  try  and  find  him,  then,"  responded  Van 
dover.  "Well,  I  hope  you  two  enjoy  yourselves."  As  he 
was  turning  away  Bessie  Laguna  came  running  back,  and 
taking  him  a  little  to  one  side  said : 

"You'd  better  go  round  and  see  Ida  pretty  soon  if  you 
can.  She's  all  broke  up  about  something,  I'm  sure.  I 
think  she'd  like  to  see  you  pretty  well.  Honestly,"  she 
said,  suddenly  very  grave,  "  I  never  saw  Ida  so  cut  up  in 
my  life.  She's  been  taking  on  over  something  in  a  dread 
ful  way,  and  I  think  she'd  like  to  see  you.  She  won't  tell 
me  anything.  You  go  around  and  see  her." 

"All  right,"  answered  Vandover  smiling,  "I'll  go." 

As  he  was  going  down  the  stairs  on  his  way  to  find  young 
Haight  it  occurred  to  him  what  Ida's  trouble  might  be. 
He  was  all  at  once  struck  with  a  great  fear,  so  that  for  an 
instant  he  turned  cold  and  weak,  and  reached  out  his  hand 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  91 

to  steady  himself  against  the  railing  of  the  stairs.  Ah, 
what  a  calamity  that  would  be!  What  a  calamity! 
What  a  dreadful  responsibility !  What  a  crime !  He  could 
not  keep  the  thought  out  of  his  mind.  He  tried  to  tell 
himself  that  Ida  had  practically  given  her  consent  by  going 
into  such  a  place;  that  he  was  not  the  only  one,  after  all; 
that  there  was  nothing  certain  as  yet.  He  stood  on  the 
stairway,  empty  for  that  moment,  biting  the  end  of  his 
thumb,  saying  to  himself  in  a  low  voice : 

"  What  a  calamity,  what  a  horrible  calamity  that  would 
be!  Ah,  you  scoundrel!  You  damned  fool,  not  to  have 
thought!"  A  couple  of  girls,  the  counter  girls  at  one  of 
the  candy  booths,  came  down  the  stairs  behind  him  with 
a  great  babble  of  talk.  Vandover  gave  an  irritated  shrug 
of  his  shoulders  as  if  freeing  himself  from  the  disagreeable 
subject  and  went  on. 

He  could  not  find  young  Haight  down  stairs  and  so 
went  up  into  the  gallery  again.  After  a  long  time  he 
came  upon  him  sitting  on  an  empty  bench  nursing  his  cane 
and  watching  the  crowd  go  past. 

"Hello,  old  man!"  he  exclaimed.  "Ellis  told  me  I 
would  find  you  around  somewhere.  I  was  just  going  to 
give  you  up."  He  sat  down  beside  his  chum,  and  the  two 
began  to  talk  about  the  people  as  they  passed.  "Ah, 
get  on  to  the  red  hat!"  exclaimed  Vandover  on  a  sudden. 
"That's  the  third  time  she's  passed." 

"Has  Ellis  gone  off  with  Bessie  Laguna?"  asked  young 
Haight. 

"Yes,"  answered  Vandover.  "They're  going  to  have 
a  time  at  the  Cliff  House.' 

"That's  too  bad,"  young  Haight  replied.     "Ellis  has 


92  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

just  thrown  himself  away  with  that  girl.  He  might  have 
known  some  very  nice  people  when  he  first  came  here. 
Between  that  girl  and  his  whisky  he  has  managed  to  spoil 
every  chance  he  might  have  had." 

"There's  Charlie  Geary,"  Vandover exclaimed  suddenly, 
whistling  and  beckoning.  "  Hey,  there,  Charlie !  where  you 
going?  Oh,"  he  cried  on  a  sudden  as  Geary  came  up, 
*'oh,  get  on  to  his  new  store  clothes,  will  you?"  They 
both  pretended  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  elegance  of 
Geary's  new  suit. 

* '  O-oh ! "  cried  young  Haight.  "  The  bloody,  bloomin', 
bloated  swell.  Just  let  me  touch  them ! " 

Vandover  shaded  his  eyes  and  turned  away  as  though 
dazzled.  "This  is  too  much,"  he  gasped.  "Such  mag 
nificence,  such  purple  and  fine  linen."  Then  suddenly  he 
shouted,  "Oh,  oh!  look  at  the  crease  in  those  trousers. 
No;  it's  too  much,  I  can't  stand  it." 

"Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Geary,  irritated,  as  they  had  in 
tended  he  should  be.  "Yes,"  he  went  on,  "I  thought  I'd 
blow  myself.  I've  been  working  like  a  dog  the  whole 
month.  I'm  trying  to  get  in  Beale's  office.  Beale  and 
Storey,  you  know.  I  got  the  promise  of  a  berth  last  week, 
so  I  thought  I'd  blow  myself  for  some  rags.  I've  been 
over  to  San  Rafael  all  day  visiting  my  cousins;  had  a  great 
time;  went  out  to  row.  Oh,  and  had  a  great  feed:  lettuce 
sandwiches  with  mayonnaise.  Simply  out  of  sight.  I 
came  back  on  the  four  o'clock  boat  and  held  down  the 
'  line '  on  Kearney  Street  for  an  hour  or  two." 

"Yes?"  young  Haight  said  perfunctorily,  adding  after 
a  moment,  "Isn't  this  a  gay  crowd,  a  typical  San  Fran 
cisco  crowd  and " 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  93 

"I  had  a  cocktail  in  the  Imperial  at  about  quarter  of 
five,"  said  Geary,  "and  got  a  cigar  at  the  Elite;  then  I 
went  around  to  get  my  clothes.  Oh,  you  ought  to  have 
heard  the  blowing  up  I  gave  my  tailor!  I  let  him  have 
it  right  straight." 

Geary  paused  a  moment,  and  Vandover  said:  "Come 
on,  let's  walk  around  a  little;  don't  you  want  to?  We 
might  run  on  to  the  red  hat  again." 

"I  told  him,"  continued  Geary  without  moving,  "that 
if  he  wanted  to  do  any  more  work  for  me,  he'd  have  to 
get  in  front  of  himself  in  a  hurry,  and  that  /  wasn't  full  of 
bubbles,  if  he  was.  'Why/  says  he,  'why,  Mr.  Geary, 
I've  never  had  a  customer  talk  like  this  to  me  before  since 
I've  been  in  the  business!'  'Well,  Mr.  Allen/  says  I, 
'  it's  time  you  had! '  Oh,  sure,  I  gave  it  to  him  straight." 

"Vandover  has  gone  daft  over  a  girl  in  a  red  hat,"  said 
young  Haight,  as  they  got  up  and  began  to  walk.  "Have 
you  noticed  her  up  here?  " 

"I  went  to  the  Grillroom  after  I  left  the  tailor's,"  con 
tinued  Geary,  "and  had  supper  downtown.  Ah,  you 
ought  to  have  seen  the  steak  they  gave  me!  Just  about 
as  thick  as  it  was  wide.  I  gave  the  slavey  a  four-bit 
tip.  Oh,  it's  just  as  well,  you  know,  to  keep  in  with  them, 
if  you  go  there  often.  I  lunch  there  four  or  five  times  a 
week." 

They  descended  to  the  ground  floor  and  promenaded 
the  central  aisle  watching  for  pretty  girls.  In  front  of  a 
candy-counter,  where  there  was  a  soda  fountain,  they 
saw  the  red  hat  again.  Vandover  looked  her  squarely 
in  the  face  and  laughed  a  little.  When  he  had  passed  he 
looked  back;  the  girl  caught  his  eye  and  turned  away  with 


94  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

a  droll  smile.  Vandover  paused,  grinning,  and  raising 
his  hat;  "I  guess  that's  mine,"  he  said. 

"You  are  not  going,  are  you?"  exclaimed  young  Haight, 
as  Vandover  stopped.  "Oh,  for  goodness'  sake,  Van,  do 
leave  the  girls  alone  for  one  hour  in  the  day.  Come  on! 
Come  on  downtown  with  us." 

"No,  no,"  answered  Vandover.  "I'm  going  to  chase 
it  up.  Good-bye.  I  may  see  you  fellows  later,"  and  he 
turned  back  and  went  up  to  the  girl. 

"Look  at  that!"  said  young  Haight,  exasperated. 
"He  knows  he's  liable  to  meet  his  acquaintances  here,  and 
yet  there  he  goes,  almost  arm  in  arm  with  a  girl  like  that. 
It's  too  bad;  why  can't  a  fellow  keep  straight  when  there 
are  such  a  lot  of  nice  girls?  " 

Geary  never  liked  to  see  anything  done  better  than  he 
could  do  it  himself.  Just  now  he  was  vexed  because  Van 
dover  had  got  in  ahead  of  him.  He  looked  after  the  girl 
a  moment  and  muttered  scornfully : 

"Cheap  meat!"  adding,  "Ah,  you  bet  I  wouldn't  do 
that.  I  flatter  myself  that  I'm  a  little  too  clever  to  cut 
my  own  throat  in  that  fashion.  I  look  out  after  my  in 
terests  better  than  that.  Well,  Dolly,"  he  concluded, 
"I've  got  a  thirst  on.  Van  and  Ellis  have  gone  off  with 
their  girls;  let's  you  and  I  go  somewhere  and  have  some 
thing  wet." 

"  All  right.  What's  the  matter  with  the  Luxembourg?  " 
answered  young  Haight. 

"Luxembourg  goes,  then,"  assented  Geary,  and  they 
turned  about  and  started  for  the  door.  As  they  were  pass 
ing  out  some  one  came  running  up  behind  them  and  took 
an  arm  of  each :  it  was  Vandover. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  95 

"  Hello,"  cried  Geary,  delighted,  "your  girl  shook  you, 
didn't  she?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  answered  Vandover.  "Oh,  but  say, 
she  is  out  of  sight!  Says  her  name  is  Grace  Irving.  No, 
she  didn't  shake  me.  I  made  a  date  with  her  for  next 
Wednesday  night.  I  didn't  want  to  be  seen  around  here 
with  her,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  she  will  keep  that  date ! "  said  Geary. 

"Well,  now,  I  think  she  will,"  protested  Vandover. 

"Well,  come  along,"  interrupted  young  Haight.  "We'll 
all  go  down  to  the  Luxembourg  and  have  something  cold 
and  wet." 

"Ah,  make  it  the  Imperial  instead,"  objected  Vandover. 
"We  may  find  Flossie." 

"Say,"  cried  Geary,  "can't  you  live  without  trailing 
around  after  some  kind  of  petticoats?  " 

"You're  right,"  admitted  Vandover,  "I  can't,"  but 
he  persuaded  them  to  go  to  the  Imperial  for  all  that. 

At  the  Imperial,  Toby,  the  red-eyed  waiter,  came  to 
take  their  order. 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "Haven't  seen 
you  around  here  for  some  time." 

"No,  no,"  said  Geary.  "I've  been  too  busy.  I've 
been  working  like  a  dog  lately  to  get  into  a  certain  office. 
You  bet  I'll  make  it  all  right  —  all  right.  Bring  me  a 
stringy  rabbit  and  a  pint  of  dog's-head." 

"You  bet  I've  been  working,"  he  continued  after  they 
had  settled  down  to  their  beer  and  rabbits,  "  working  like 
a  dog.  A  man's  got  to  rustle  if  he's  going  to  make  a  suc 
cess  at  law.  I'm  going  to  make  it  go,  by  George,  or  I'll 
know  the  reason  why.  I'll  make  my  way  in  this  town 


96  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

and  my  pile.  There's  money  to  be  made  here  and  / 
might  just  as  well  make  it  as  the  next  man.  Every  man 
for  himself,  that's  what  /  say;  that's  the  way  to  get  along. 
It  may  be  selfish,  but  you've  got  to  do  it.  By  God!  it's 
human  nature.  Isn't  that  right,  hey?  Isn't  that  right?" 

"Oh,  that's  right,"  admitted  young  Haight,  trying  to 
be  polite.  After  this  the  conversation  lagged  a  little. 
Young  Haight  drank  his  Apollinaris  lemonade  through 
a  straw,  Geary  sipped  his  ale,  and  Vandover  fed  himself 
Welsh  rabbit  and  Spanish  olives  with  the  silent  enjoyment 
of  a  glutton.  By  and  by,  when  they  had  finished  and  had 
lighted  their  cigars  and  cigarettes,  they  began  to  talk 
about  the  last  Cotillon,  to  which  Vandover  and  Haight 
belonged. 

"Say,  Van,"  said  young  Haight,  tilting  his  head  to  one 
side  and  shutting  one  eye  to  avoid  the  smoke  from  his 
cigar,  "say,  didn't  I  see  you  dancing  with  Mrs.  Doane 
after  supper?" 

"Yes,"  said  Vandover  laughing;  "all  the  men  were  try 
ing  to  get  a  dance  with  her.  She  had  an  edge  on." 

"No?"  exclaimed  Geary,  incredulously. 

"That's  a  fact,"  admitted  young  Haight.  "Van  is 
right." 

"She  was  opposite  to  me  at  table,"  said  Vandover, 
"and  I  saw  her  empty  a  whole  bottle  of  champagne." 

"Why,  I  didn't  know  they  got  drunk  like  that  at  the 
Cotillons,"  said  Geary.  "I  thought  they  were  very 
swell." 

"Well,  of  course,  they  don't  as  a  rule,"  returned  Van 
dover.  "Of  course  there  are  girls  like  —  like  Henrietta 
Vance  who  belong  to  the  Cotillon  and  make  it  what  it  is, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  97 

and  what  it  ought  to  be.  But  there  are  other  girls  like 
Mrs.  Doane  and  Lilly  Stannard  and  the  Trafford  girls 
that  like  their  champagne  pretty  well  now,  and  don't 
you  forget  it!  Oh,  you  know,  I  wouldn't  call  it  getting 
drunk,  though." 

"Well,  why  not?"  exclaimed  young  Haight  impatiently. 
"Why  not  call  it  'getting  drunk?'  Why  not  call  things 
by  their  right  name?  You  can  see  just  how  bad  they 
are  then;  and  I  think  it's  shameful  that  such  things  can 
go  on  in  an  organization  that  is  supposed  to  contain  the 
very  best  people  in  the  city.  Now,  I  just  want  to  tell 
you  what  I  saw  at  one  of  these  same  Cotillons  in  the  first 
part  of  the  season.  Lilly  Stannard  disappeared  after 
supper  and  people  said  she  was  sick  and  was  going  home, 
but  I  knew  exactly  what  was  the  matter,  because  I  had 
seen  her  at  the  supper  table.  Well,  I  had  gone  outside 
on  the  steps  to  get  a  mouthful  of  smoke,  and  my  little 
cousin,  Hetty,  who  has  just  come  out  and  who  is  only 
nineteen,  was  out  there  with  me  because  it  was  so  warm 
inside,  and  she  had  seen  Lilly  Stannard  filling  up  with 
champagne  at  supper,  and  didn't  know  what  to  make  of 
it.  Well,  we  were  just  talking  about  it,  and  I  was  trying 
to  make  her  believe  too  that  Lilly  Stannard  was  sick, 
when  here  comes  Lilly  herself  out  to  her  carriage.  Her 
maid  was  supporting  her,  just  about  half -carry  ing  her. 
Lilly's  face  was  so  pale  that  the  powder  on  it  looked  like 
ashes,  her  hair  was  all  coming  down,  and  she  was  hic 
coughing.  Now,"  continued  young  Haight,  his  eyes 
snapping,  and  his  voice  raised  so  as  to  make  itself  heard 
above  the  exclamations  of  his  two  friends,  "now,  that's 
a  fact;  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  that  it  actually 


98  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

happened.  It's  not  hearsay;  I  saw  it  myself.  It's  fine, 
isn't  it?"  he  went  on,  wrathfully.  "It  sounds  well,  don't 
it,  when  it's  told  just  as  it  happened  ?  The  girl  was  dead 
drunk.  Oh,  she  may  have  made  a  mistake;  it  may  have 
been  the  first  time;  but  the  fact  remains  that  she  always 
drinks  a  lot  of  champagne  at  the  Cotillons,  and  other  girls 
have  been  drunk  there,  too.  Mrs.  Doane,  that  Van  tells 
about,  was  drunk;  that's  the  word  for  it.  She  was  dead 
drunk  that  night,  and  there  was  my  little  cousin,  Hetty, 
who  had  never  seen  even  a  man  the  worse  for  his  liquor, 
standing  there  and  taking  it  all  in.  Of  course,  every  one 
hushed  the  thing  up  or  else  said  the  poor  girl  was  sick;  but 
Hetty  knew,  and  what  effect  do  you  suppose  it  had  upon 
a  little  girl  like  that,  who  had  always  been  told  what  nice, 
irreproachable  people  went  to  the  Cotillons?  Hetty  will 
never  be  the  same  little  girl  now  that  she  was  before.  Oh, 
it  makes  me  damned  tired." 

"Well,  I  don't  see,"  said  Geary,  "why  the  girls  should 
make  such  a  fuss  about  the  men  keeping  straight.  I  dare 
say  now  that  this  Stannard  girl  would  cut  us  all  dead  if 
she  knew  how  drunk  we  were  that  night  about  four  months 
ago  —  that  night  that  you  fellows  got  thrown  out  of  the 
Luxembourg." 

"No,  I  don't  believe  she  would  at  all,"  said  young 
Haight. 

"She'd  think  better  of  you  for  it,"  put  in  Vandover. 
"Look  here,"  he  went  on,  "all  this  talk  of  women  demand 
ing  the  same  moral  standard  for  men  as  men  do  for  women 
is  fine  on  paper,  but  how  does  it  work  in  real  life?  The 
women  don't  demand  it  at  all.  Take  the  average  society 
girl  in  a  big  city  like  this.  The  girls  that  we  meet  at  teas 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  99 

and  receptions  and  functions  —  don't  you  suppose  they 
know  the  life  we  men  lead?  Of  course  they  do.  They 
may  not  know  it  in  detail,  but  they  know  in  a  general  way 
that  we  get  drunk  a  good  deal  and  go  to  disreputable 
houses  and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  do  they  ever  cut  us  for 
that?  No,  sir;  not  much.  Why,  I  tell  you,  they  even 
have  a  little  more  respect  for  us.  They  like  a  man  to 
know  things,  to  be  experienced.  A  man  that  keeps  him 
self  straight  and  clean  and  never  goes  around  with  fast 
women,  they  think  is  ridiculous.  Of  course,  a  girl  don't 
want  to  know  the  particulars  of  a  man's  vice;  what  they 
want  is  that  a  man  should  have  the  knowledge  of  good 
and  evil,  yes,  and  lots  of  evil.  To  a  large  extent  I  really 
believe  it's  the  women's  fault  that  the  men  are  what  they 
are.  If  they  demanded  a  higher  moral  standard  the  men 
would  come  up  to  it;  they  encourage  a  man  to  go  to  the 
devil  and  then  —  and  then  when  he's  rotten  with  disease 
and  ruins  his  wife  and  has  children  —  what  is  it  — 
'  spotted  toads '  —  then  there's  a  great  cry  raised  against 
the  men,  and  women  write  books  and  all,  when  half  the 
time  the  woman  has  only  encouraged  him  to  be  what  he  is." 

"Oh,  well  now,"  retorted  young  Haight,  "you  know 
that  all  the  girls  are  not  like  that." 

"  Most  of  them  that  you  meet  in  society  are." 

"But  they  are  the  best  people,  aren't  they?"  demanded 
Geary. 

"No,"  answered  Vandover  and  young  Haight  in  a 
breath,  and  young  Haight  continued : 

"No;  I  believe  that  very  few  of  what  you  would  call  the 
'best  people'  go  out  in  society  —  people  like  the  Ravises, 
who  have  good  principles,  and  keep  up  old-fashioned 


100  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

virtues  and  all  that.     You  know,"  he  added,  "they  have 
family  prayers  down  there  every  morning  after  breakfast." 

Geary  began  to  smile. 

"Well,  now,  I  don't  care,"  retorted  young  Haight,  "I 
like  that  sort  of  thing." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Vandover.  "Up  home,  now,  the  gover 
nor  asks  a  blessing  at  each  meal,  and  somehow  I  wouldn't 
like  to  see  him  leave  it  off.  But  you  can't  tell  me,"  he 
went  on,  going  back  to  the  original  subject  of  their  dis 
cussion,  "you  can't  tell  me  that  American  society  girls, 
city-bred,  and  living  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
don't  know  about  things.  Why,  man  alive,  how  can  they 
help  but  know?  Look  at  those  that  have  brothers  — 
don't  you  suppose  they  know,  and  if  they  know,  why  don't 
they  use  their  influence  to  stop  it?  I  tell  you  if  any  one 
were  to  write  up  the  lives  that  we  young  men  of  the  city 
lead  after  dark,  people  wouldn't  believe  it.  At  that  party 
that  Henrietta  Vance  gave  last  month  there  were  about 
twenty  fellows  there  and  I  knew  every  one,  and  I  was 
looking  around  the  supper-table  and  wondering  how  many 
of  those  young  fellows  had  never  been  inside  of  a  disrepu 
table  house,  and  there  was  only  one  beside  Dolly  Haight ! " 

Young  Haight  exclaimed  at  this,  laughing  good-na 
turedly,  twirling  his  thumbs,  and  casting  down  his  eyes 
with  mock-modesty. 

"Well,  that's  the  truth  just  the  same,"  Vandover  went 
on.  "We  young  men  of  the  cities  are  a  fine  lot.  I'm 
not  doing  the  baby  act.  I'm  not  laying  the  blame  on  the 
girls  altogether,  but  I  say  that  in  a  measure  the  girls  are 
responsible.  They  want  a  man  to  be  a  man,  to  be  up  to 
date,  to  be  a  man  of  the  world  and  to  go  in  for  that  sort 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRt  TE  101, 

of  vice,  but  they  don't  know,  they  don't  dream,  how  rotten 
and  disgusting  it  is.  Oh,  I'm  not  preaching.  I  know  I'm 
just  as  bad  as  the  rest,  and  I'm  going  to  have  a  good  time 
while  I  can,  but  sometimes  when  you  stop  and  think,  and 
as  Dolly  says  'call  things  by  their  right  names,'  why  you 
feel,  don't  you  know  —  queer'9 

"I  don't  believe,  Van,"  responded  young  Haight,  "that 
it's  quite  as  bad  as  you  say.  But  it's  even  wrong,  I 
think,  that  a  good  girl  should  know  anything  about 
vice  at  all." 

"Oh,  that's  nonsense,"  broke  in  Geary;  "you  can't 
expect  nowadays  that  a  girl,  an  American  girl,  can  live 
twenty  years  in  a  city  and  not  know  things.  Do  you 
think  the  average  modern  girl  is  going  to  be  the  absolutely 
pure  and  innocent  girl  of,  say,  fifty  years  ago?  Not 
much;  they  are  right  on  to  things  to-day.  You  can't  tell 
them  much.  And  it's  all  right,  too;  they  know  how  to 
look  out  for  themselves,  then.  It's  part  of  their  education; 
and  I  think  if  they  haven't  the  knowledge  of  evil,  and 
don't  know  what  sort  of  life  the  average  young  man  leads, 
that  their  mothers  ought  to  tell  them." 

"Well,  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  retorted  young  Haight. 
"There's  something  revolting  in  the  idea  that  it's  necessary 
a  young  girl  should  be  instructed  in  that  sort  of  nastiness." 

"Why,  not  at  all,"  answered  Geary.  "Without  it  she 
might  be  ruined  by  the  first  man  that  came  along.  It's 
a  protection  to  her  virtue." 

"Oh,  pshaw!  I  don't  believe  it  at  all,"  cried  young 
Haight,  impatiently.  "I  believe  that  a  girl  is  born  with 
a  natural  intuitive  purity  that  will  lead  her  to  protect  her 
virtue  just  as  instinctively  as  she  would  dodge  a  blow;  if 


IQfc  HANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

she  wants  to  go  wrong  she  will  have  to  make  an  effort  her 
self  to  overcome  that  instinct." 

"And  if  she  don't,"  cried  Vandover  eagerly,  "if  she 
don't  —  if  she  don't  protect  her  virtue,  I  say  a  man  has  a 
right  to  go  as  far  with  her  as  he  can." 

"If  he  don't,  some  one  else  will,"  said  Geary. 

"Ah,  you  can't  get  around  it  that  way,"  answered  young 
Haight,  smiling.  "It's  a  man's  duty  to  protect  a  girl, 
even  if  he  has  to  protect  her  against  herself." 

When  he  got  home  that  night  Vandover  thought  over 
this  remark  of  young  Haight's  and  in  its  light  reviewed 
what  had  occurred  in  the  room  at  the  Imperial.  He  felt 
aroused,  nervous,  miserably  anxious.  At  length  he  tried 
to  dismiss  the  subject  from  his  mind;  he  woke  up  his 
drowsing  grate  fire,  punching  it  with  the  poker,  talking 
to  it,  saying,  "Wake  up  there,  you!"  When  he  was  un 
dressed,  he  sat  down  before  it  in  his  bathrobe,  absorbing 
its  heat  luxuriously,  musing  into  the  coals,  scratching 
himself  as  was  his  custom.  But  for  all  that  he  fretted 
nervously  and  did  not  sleep  well  that  night. 

Next  morning  he  took  his  bath.  Vandover  enjoyed 
his  bath  and  usually  spent  two  or  three  hours  over  it. 
When  the  water  was  very  warm  he  got  into  it  with  his 
novel  on  a  rack  in  front  of  him  and  a  box  of  chocolates 
conveniently  near.  Here  he  stayed,  for  over  an  hour, 
eating  and  reading,  and  occasionally  smoking  a  cigarette, 
until  at  length  the  enervating  heat  of  the  steam  gradually 
overcame  him  and  he  dropped  off  to  sleep. 

On  this  particular  morning  between  nine  and  ten  Geary 
called,  and  as  was  his  custom  came  right  up  to  Vandover's 
room.  Mr.  Corkle,  lying  on  the  wolfskin  in  the  bay  win- 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  103 

dow,  jumped  up  with  a  gruff  bark,  but,  recognizing  him, 
came  up  wiggling  his  short  tail.  Geary  saw  Vandover's 
clothes  thrown  about  the  floor  and  the  closed  door  of  the 
bathroom. 

"  Hey,  Van ! "  he  called.  "  It's  Charlie  Geary.  Are  you 
taking  a  bath?" 

"Hello!  What?  Who  is  it?"  came  from  behind  the 
door.  "Oh,  is  that  you,  Charlie?  Hello!  how  are  you? 
Yes,  I'm  taking  a  bath.  I  must  have  been  asleep.  Wait 
a  minute;  I'll  be  out." 

"No,  I  can't  stop,"  answered  Geary.  "I've  an  ap 
pointment  downtown;  overslept  myself,  and  had  to  go 
without  my  breakfast;  makes  me  feel  all  broke  up.  I'll 
get  something  at  the  Grillroom  about  eleven;  a  steak,  I 
guess.  But  that  isn't  what  I  came  to  say.  Ida  Wade  has 
killed  herself!  Isn't  it  fearful?  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  on 
my  way  downtown  and  speak  to  you  about  it.  It's  dread 
ful!  It's  all  in  the  morning  papers.  She  must  have  been 
out  of  her  head." 

"What  is  it  —  what  has  she  done?"  came  back  Van 
dover's  voice.  "Papers  —  I  haven't  seen  —  what  has 
she  done?  Tell  me  —  what  has  she  done?  " 

"Why,  she  committed  suicide  last  night  by  taking 
laudanum,"  answered  Geary,  "and  nobody  knows  why. 
She  didn't  leave  any  message  or  letter  or  anything  of  the 
kind.  It's  a  fearful  thing  to  happen  so  suddenly,  but  it 
seems  she  has  been  very  despondent  and  broke  up  about 
something  or  other  for  a  week  or  two.  They  found  her 
in  her  room  last  night  about  ten  o'clock  lying  across  her 
table  with  only  her  wrapper  on.  She  was  unconscious 
then,  and  between  one  and  two  she  died.  She  was  un- 


104  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

conscious  all  the  time.  Well,  I  can't  stop  any  longer. 
Van;  I've  an  appointment  downtown.  I  was  just  going 
past  the  house  and  I  thought  I  would  run  up  and  speak 
to  you  about  Ida.  I'll  see  you  again  pretty  soon  and 
we'll  talk  this  over." 

Mr.  Corkle  politely  attended  Geary  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  then  went  back  to  Vandover's  room,  and  after 
blowing  under  the  crack  of  the  bathroom  door  to  see  if  his 
master  was  still  there  returned  to  the  wolfskin  and  sat 
down  on  his  short  tail  and  yawned.  He  was  impatient 
to  see  Vandover  and  thought  he  stayed  in  his  bath  an 
unnecessarily  long  time.  He  went  up  to  the  door  again 
and  listened.  It  was  very  still  inside;  he  could  not  hear 
the  slightest  sound,  and  he  wondered  again  what  could 
keep  Vandover  in  there  so  long.  He  had  too  much  self- 
respect  to  whine,  so  he  went  back  to  the  wolfskin  and 
curled  up  in  the  sun,  but  did  not  go  to  sleep. 

By  and  by,  after  a  very  long  time,  the  bathroom  door 
swung  open,  and  Vandover  came  out.  He  had  not  dried 
himself  and  was  naked  and  wTet.  He  went  directly  to  the 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  and  picked  up  the  morning 
paper,  looking  for  the  article  of  which  Geary  had  spoken. 
At  first  he  could  not  find  it,  and  then  it  suddenly  jumped 
into  prominence  from  out  the  gray  blur  of  the  print  on  an 
inside  page  beside  an  advertisement  of  a  charity  concert  for 
the  benefit  of  a  home  for  incurable  children.  There  was  a 
picture  of  Ida  taken  from  a  photograph  like  one  that  she 
had  given  him,  and  which  even  then  was  thrust  between 
the  frame  and  glass  of  his  mirror.  He  read  the  article 
through;  it  sketched  her  life  and  character  and  the  cir 
cumstances  of  her  death  with  the  relentless  terseness  of 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  105 

the  writer  cramped  for  space.  According  to  this  view, 
the  causes  of  her  death  were  unknown.  It  had  been  re 
marked  that  she  had  of  late  been  despondent  and  in  ill 
health. 

Vandover  threw  the  paper  down  and  straightened  up, 
naked  and  dripping,  putting  both  hands  to  his  head.  In 
a  low  voice  under  his  breath  he  said : 

"  What  have  I  done?     What  have  I  done  now?  " 

Like  the  sudden  unrolling  of  a  great  scroll  he  saw  his 
responsibility  for  her  death  and  for  the  ruin  of  that  some 
thing  in  her  which  was  more  than  life.  What  would  be 
come  of  her  now?  And  what  would  become  of  him?  For 
a  single  brief  instant  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  Ida 
had  consented  after  all.  But  he  knew  that  this  was  not 
so.  She  had  consented,  but  he  had  forced  her  consent; 
he  was  none  the  less  guilty.  And  then  in  that  dreadful 
moment  when  he  saw  things  in  their  true  light,  all  the 
screens  of  conventionality  and  sophistry  torn  away,  the 
words  that  young  Haight  had  spoken  came  back  to  him. 
No  matter  if  she  had  consented,  it  was  his  duty  to  have 
protected  her,  even  against  herself. 

He  walked  the  floor  with  great  strides,  steaming  with 
the  warm  water,  striking  his  head  with  his  hands  and 
crying  out,  "Oh,  this  is  fearful,  fearful?  What  have  I 
done  now?  I  have  killed  her;  yes,  and  worse ! " 

He  could  think  of  nothing  worse  that  could  have  hap 
pened  to  him.  What  a  weight  of  responsibility  to  carry  — 
he  who  hated  responsibility  of  any  kind,  who  had  always 
tried  to  escape  from  anything  that  was  even  irksome,  who 
loved  his  ease,  his  comfort,  his  peace  of  mind ! 

At  every  moment  now  he  saw  the  different  consequences 


106  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

of  what  he  had  done.  Now,  it  was  that  his  life  was  ruined, 
and  that  all  through  its  course  this  crime  would  hang  like 
a  millstone  about  his  neck.  There  could  be  no  more  en 
joyment  of  anything  for  him;  all  the  little  pleasures  and 
little  self-indulgences  which  till  now  had  delighted  him 
were  spoiled  and  rendered  impossible.  The  rest  of  his 
life  would  have  to  be  one  long  penitence;  any  pleasure  he 
might  take  would  only  make  his  crime  seem  more  abomi 
nable. 

Now,  it  was  a  furious  revolt  against  his  mistake  that 
had  led  him  to  such  a  fearful  misunderstanding  of  Ida;  a 
silent  impotent  rage  against  himself  and  against  the  brute 
in  him  that  he  had  permitted  to  drag  him  to  this  thing. 

Now,  it  was  a  wave  of  an  immense  pity  for  the  dead  girl 
that  overcame  him,  and  he  saw  himself  as  another  person, 
destroying  what  she  most  cherished  for  the  sake  of  gratify 
ing  an  unclean  passion. 

Now,  it  was  a  terror  for  himself.  What  would  they  do 
to  him?  His  part  in  the  affair  was  sure  to  be  found  out. 
He  tried  to  think  what  the  punishment  for  such  crime 
would  be;  but  would  he  not  be  considered  a  murderer  as 
well?  Could  he  not  hang  for  this?  His  imagination  was 
never  more  active;  his  fear  never  more  keen.  At  once 
a  thousand  plans  of  concealment  or  escape  were  tossed  up 
in  his  mind. 

But  worse  than  all  was  the  thought  of  that  punishment 
from  which  there  was  absolutely  no  escape,  and  of  that 
strange  other  place  where  his  crime  would  assume  right 
proportions  and  receive  right  judgment,  no  matter  how  it 
was  palliated  or  evaded  here.  Then  for  an  instant  it  was 
as  if  a  gulf  without  bottom  had  opened  under  him,  and  he 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  107 

had  to  fight  himself  back  from  its  edge  for  sheer  self- 
preservation.  To  look  too  long  in  that  direction  was 
simple  insanity  beyond  any  doubt. 

And  all  this  time  he  threw  himself  to  and  fro  in  his 
room,  his  long  white  arms  agitated  and  shaking,  his  wet 
and  shining  hair  streaming  far  over  his  face,  and  the 
sparse  long  fell  upon  his  legs  and  ankles,  all  straight  and 
trickling  with  moisture.  At  times  an  immense  unreason 
ing  terror  would  come  upon  him  all  of  a  sudden,  horrible, 
crushing,  so  that  he  rolled  upon  the  bed  groaning  and 
sobbing,  digging  his  nails  into  his  scalp,  shutting  his  teeth 
against  a  desire  to  scream  out,  writhing  in  the  throes  of 
terrible  mental  agony. 

That  day  and  the  next  were  fearful.  To  Vandover 
everything  in  his  world  was  changed.  All  that  had  hap 
pened  before  the  morning  of  Geary's  visit  appeared  to 
him  to  have  occurred  in  another  phase  of  his  life,  years 
and  years  ago.  He  lay  awake  all  night  long,  listening 
to  the  creaking  of  the  house  and  the  drip  of  the  water 
faucets.  He  turned  from  his  food  with  repugnance,  told 
his  father  that  he  was  sick,  and  kept  indoors  as  much  as 
he  could,  reading  all  the  papers  to  see  if  he  had  been  found 
out.  To  his  great  surprise  and  relief,  a  theory  gained 
ground  that  Ida  was  subject  to  spells  of  ill-health,  to  long 
fits  of  despondency,  and  that  her  suicide  had  occurred 
during  one  of  these.  If  Ida's  family  knew  anything  of 
the  truth,  it  was  apparent  that  they  were  doing  their  best 
to  cover  up  their  disgrace.  Vandover  was  too  thoroughly 
terrified  for  his  own  safety  to  feel  humiliated  at  this  possi 
ble  explanation  of  his  security.  There  was  as  yet  not 
even  a  guess  that  implicated  him. 


108  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

He  thought  that  he  was  bearing  up  under  the  strain 
well  enough,  but  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  as  he 
was  pretending  to  eat  his  supper,  his  father  sent  the  ser 
vant  out  and  turning  to  him,  said  kindly : 

' '  What  is  it,  Van  ?     Aren't  you  well  nowadays  ? ' ' 

"Not  very,  sir,"  answered  Vandover.  "My  throat  is 
troubling  me  again." 

"You  look  deathly  pale,"  returned  his  father.  "Your 
eyes  are  sunken  and  you  don't  eat." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Vandover.  "I'm  not  feeling  well 
at  all.  I  think  I'll  go  to  bed  early  to-night.  I  don't 
know"  —  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  feeling  a  desire  to 
escape  from  his  father's  observation  —  "I  don't  know  but 
what  I'll  go  up  now.  Will  you  tell  the  cook  to  feed  Mr. 
Corkleforme?" 

His  father  looked  at  him  as  he  pushed  back  from  the 
table. 

"What's  the  matter,  Van?"  he  said.  "Is  there  any 
thing  wrong?" 

"Oh,  I'll  be  all  right  in  the  morning,"  he  replied  ner 
vously.  "  I  feel  a  little  under  the  weather  just  now." 

"Don't  you  think  you  had  better  tell  me  what  the 
trouble  is?  "  said  his  father,  kindly. 

"There  isn't  any  trouble,  sir,"  insisted  Vandover.  "I 
just  feel  a  little  under  the  weather." 

But  as  he  was  starting  to  undress  in  his  room  a  sudden 
impulse  took  possession  of  him,  an  overwhelming  childish 
desire  to  tell  his  father  all  about  it.  It  was  beginning 
to  be  more  than  he  was  able  to  bear  alone.  He  did  not 
allow  himself  to  stop  and  reason  with  this  impulse,  but 
slipped  on  his  vest  again  and  went  downstairs.  He  found 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  109 

his  father  in  the  smoking-room,  sitting  unoccupied  in  the 
huge  leather  chair  before  the  fireplace. 

As  Vandover  came  in  the  Old  Gentleman  rose  and  with 
out  a  word,  as  if  he  had  been  expecting  him,  went  to  the 
door  and  shut  and  locked  it.  He  came  back  and  stood 
before  the  fireplace  watching  Vandover  as  he  approached 
and  took  the  chair  he  had  just  vacated.  Vandover  told 
him  of  the  affair  in  two  or  three  phrases,  without  choosing 
his  words,  repeating  the  same  expressions  over  and  over 
again,  moved  only  with  the  desire  to  have  it  over  and  done 
with. 

It  was  like  a  burst  of  thunder.  The  worst  his  father  had 
feared  was  not  as  bad  as  this.  He  had  expected  some 
rather  serious  boyish  trouble,  but  this  was  the  crime  of  a 
man.  Still  watching  his  son,  he  put  out  his  hand,  groping 
for  the  edge  of  the  mantelpiece,  and  took  hold  of  it  with  a 
firm  grasp.  For  a  moment  he  said  nothing;  then : 

"And  —  and  you  say  you  seduced  her." 

Without  looking  up,  Vandover  answered,  "Yes,  sir," 
and  then  he  added,  "It  is  horrible;  when  I  think  of  it  I 
sometimes  feel  as  though  I  should  go  off  my  head.  I  — 

But  the  Old  Gentleman  interrupted  him,  putting  out 
his  hand : 

"Don't,"  he  said  quickly,  "don't  say  anything  now - 
please." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  long  time,  Vandover  gazing 
stupidly  at  a  little  blue  and  red  vase  on  the  table,  wonder 
ing  how  his  father  would  take  the  news,  what  next  he 
would  say;  the  Old  Gentleman  drawing  his  breath  short, 
occasionally  clearing  his  throat,  his  eyes  wandering  vaguely 
about  the  walls  of  the  room,  his  fingers  dancing  upon  the 


110  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

edge  of  the  mantelpiece.  Then  at  last  he  put  his  hand 
to  his  neck  as  though  loosening  his  collar  and  said,  looking 
away  from  Vandover: 

"  Won't  you  —  won't  you  please  go  out  —  go  away  for  a 
little  while  —  leave  me  alone  for  a  little  while." 

When  Vandover  closed  the  door,  he  shut  the  edge  of  a 
rug  between  it  and  the  sill;  as  he  reopened  it  to  push  the 
rug  out  of  the  way  he  saw  his  father  sink  into  the  chair  and, 
resting  his  arm  upon  the  table,  bow  his  head  upon  it. 

He  did  not  see  his  father  again  that  night,  and  at  break 
fast  next  morning  not  a  word  was  exchanged  between 
them,  but  his  father  did  not  go  downtown  to  his  office 
that  forenoon,  as  was  his  custom.  Vandover  went  up 
to  his  room  immediately  after  breakfast  and  sat  down 
before  the  window  that  overlooked  the  little  garden  in  the 
rear  of  the  house. 

He  was  utterly  miserable,  his  nerves  were  gone,  and  at 
times  he  would  feel  again  a  touch  of  that  hysterical,  un 
reasoning  terror  that  had  come  upon  him  so  suddenly  the 
other  morning. 

Now  there  was  a  new  trouble:  the  blow  he  had  given 
his  father.  He  could  see  that  the  Old  Gentleman  was 
crushed  under  it,  and  that  he  had  never  imagined  that  his 
son  could  have  been  so  base  as  this.  Vandover  wondered 
what  he  was  going  to  do.  It  would  seem  as  if  he  had 
destroyed  all  of  his  father's  affection  for  him,  and  he  trem 
bled  lest  the  Old  Gentleman  should  cast  him  off,  every 
thing.  Even  if  his  father  did  not  disown  him,  he  did  not 
see  how  they  could  ever  be  the  same.  They  might  go  on 
living  together  in  the  same  house,  but  as  far  apart  from 
each  other  as  strangers.  This,  however,  did  not  seem 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  111 

natural;  it  was  much  more  likely  that  his  father  would 
send  him  away,  anywhere  out  of  his  sight,  forwarding, 
perhaps  through  his  lawyer  or  agents,  enough  money  to 
keep  him  alive.  The  more  Vandover  thought  of  this,  the 
more  he  became  convinced  that  such  would  be  his  father's 
decision.  The  Old  Gentleman  had  spent  the  night  over 
it,  time  enough  to  make  up  his  mind,  and  the  fact  that 
he  had  neither  spoken  to  him  nor  looked  at  him  that 
morning  was  only  an  indication  of  what  Vandover  was  to 
expect.  He  fancied  he  knew  his  father  well  enough  to 
foresee  how  this  decision  would  be  carried  out,  not  with 
any  imprecations  or  bursts  of  rage,  but  calmly,  sadly,  in 
evitably. 

Toward  noon  his  father  came  into  the  room,  and  Van 
dover  turned  to  face  him  and  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say 
as  best  he  could.  He  knew  he  should  not  break  down  under 
it,  for  he  felt  as  though  his  misery  had  reached  its  limit, 
and  that  nothing  could  touch  or  affect  him  much  now. 

His  father  had  a  decanter  of  port  in  one  hand  and  a  glass 
in  the  other;  he  filled  the  glass  and  held  it  toward  Van 
dover,  saying  gently : 

"  I  think  you  had  better  take  some  of  this :  you' ve  hardly 
eaten  anything  in  three  days.  Do  you  feel  pretty  bad, 
Van?" 

Vandover  put  the  glass  down  and  got  upon  his  feet. 
All  at  once  a  great  sob  shook  him. 

"  Oh,  governor ! "  he  cried. 

It  was  as  if  it  had  been  a  mother  or  a  dear  sister.  The 
prodigal  son  put  his  arms  about  his  father's  neck  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  been  a  little  boy,  and  clung  to  him 
and  wept  as  though  his  heart  were  breaking. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

"WE  WILL  begin  all  over  again,  Van,"  his  father  said 
later  that  same  day.  "We  will  start  in  again  and  try  to 
forget  all  this,  not  as  much  as  we  can,  but  as  much  as  we 
ought,  and  live  it  down,  and  from  now  on  we'll  try  to  do 
the  thing  that  is  right  and  brave  and  good." 

"Just  try  me,  sir!"  cried  Vandover. 

That  was  it,  begin  all  over  again.  He  had  never  seen 
more  clearly  than  now  that  other  life  which  it  was 
possible  for  him  to  live,  a  life  that  was  above  the  level  of 
self-indulgence  and  animal  pleasures,  a  life  that  was  not 
made  up  of  the  society  of  lost  women  or  fast  girls,  but  yet 
a  life  of  keen  enjoyment. 

Whenever  he  had  been  deeply  moved  about  anything, 
the  power  and  desire  of  art  had  grown  big  within  him,  and 
he  turned  to  it  now,  instinctively  and  ardently. 

It  was  all  the  better  half  of  him  that  was  aroused  —  the 
better  half  that  he  had  kept  in  check  ever  since  his  college 
days,  the  better  half  that  could  respond  to  the  influences 
of -his  father  and  of  Turner  Ravis,  that  other  Vandover 
whom  he  felt  was  his  real  self,  Vandover  the  true  man, 
Vandover  the  artist,  not  Vandover  the  easy-going,  the 
self-indulgent,  not  Vandover  the  lover  of  women. 

From  this  time  forward  he  was  resolved  to  give  up  the 
world  that  he  had  hitherto  known,  and  devote  himself 
with  all  his  strength  to  his  art.  In  the  first  glow  of  that 

112 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  113 

resolution  he  thought  that  he  had  never  been  happier;  he 
wondered  how  he  could  have  been  blind  so  long;  what  was 
all  that  life  worth  compared  with  the  life  of  a  great  artist, 
compared  even  with  a  life  of  sturdy,  virile  effort  and  pa 
tient  labour  even  though  barren  of  achievement? 

And  then  something  very  curious  happened:  The  little 
picture  of  Turner  Ravis  that  hung  over  his  mantelpiece 
caught  his  glance,  looking  out  at  him  with  her  honest  eyes 
and  sweet  smile.  In  an  instant  he  seemed  to  love  her  as 
he  had  never  imagined  he  could  love  any  one.  All  that 
was  best  in  him  went  out  toward  her  in  a  wave  of  im 
mense  tenderness;  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes,  he  could  not 
tell  why.  Ah,  he  was  not  good  enough  for  her  now,  but 
he  would  love  her  so  well  that  he  would  grow  better,  and 
between  her  and  his  good  father  and  his  art,  the  better 
Vandover,  the  real  Vandover,  would  grow  so  large  and 
strong  within  him  that  there  should  be  no  room  for  the 
other  Vandover,  the  Vandover  of  Flossie  and  of  the  Im 
perial,  the  Vandover  of  the  brute. 

During  the  course  of  talk  that  day  between  himself 
and  his  father,  it  was  decided  that  Vandover  should  go 
away  for  a  little  while.  He  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  sick 
from  worry  and  nervous  exhaustion,  and  a  sea  trip  to 
San  Diego  and  back  seemed  to  be  what  he  stood  most  in 
need  of.  Besides  this,  his  father  told  him,  it  was  inevi 
table  that  his  share  in  Ida's  death  would  soon  be  known; 
in  any  case  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  be  away  from  the 
city. 

"You  take  whatever  steamer  sails  next,"  said  his  father, 
"and  go  down  to  Coronado  and  stay  there  as  long  as  you 
like,  three  weeks  anyway;  stay  there  until  you  get  well, 


114  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

and  when  you  get  back,  Van,  we'll  have  a  talk  about 
Paris  again.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  get  away  this 
winter,  maybe  as  soon  as  next  month.  You  think  it  over 
while  you  are  away,  and  when  you  want  to  go,  why,  we'll 
go  over  together,  Van.  What  do  you  think?  Would  you 
like  to  have  your  old  governor  along  for  a  little  while?" 

The  Santa  Rosa  cast  off  the  company's  docks  the  next 
day  about  noon  in  the  midst  of  a  thick,  cold  mist  that  was 
half  rain.  The  Old  Gentleman  came  to  see  Vandover  off. 

The  steamer,  which  seemed  gigantic,  was  roped  and 
cabled  to  the  piers,  feeling  the  water  occasionally  with  her 
screw  to  keep  the  hawsers  taut.  About  the  forward  gang 
way  a  band  of  overworked  stevedores  were  stowing  in  the 
last  of  the  cargo,  aided  by  a  donkey  engine,  which  every 
now  and  then  broke  out  into  a  spasm  of  sputtering  coughs. 
At  the  passenger  gangway  a  great  crowd  was  gathered, 
laughing  and  exchanging  remarks  with  the  other  crowd 
that  leaned  over  the  railings  of  the  decks. 

There  was  a  smell  of  pitch  and  bilge  in  the  air  mingled 
with  the  reek  of  hot  oil  from  the  engines.  About  twelve 
o'clock  an  odour  of  cooking  arose,  and  the  steward  went 
about  the  decks  drumming  upon  a  snoring  gong  for  dinner. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  great  whistle  roared  intermin 
ably,  drowning  out  the  chorus  of  "good-byes"  that  rose 
on  all  sides.  Long  before  it  had  ceased,  the  huge  bulk 
had  stirred,  almost  imperceptibly  at  first,  then,  gathering 
headway,  swung  out.  into  the  stream  and  headed  for  the 
Golden  Gate. 

Vandover  was  in  the  stern  upon  the  hurricane  deck, 
shaking  his  hat  toward  his  father,  who  had  tied  his  hand- 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  115 

kerchief  to  his  cane  and  was  waving  it  at  him  as  he  stood 
upon  an  empty  packing-case.  As  the  throng  of  those  who 
were  left  behind  dwindled  away,  one  by  one,  Vandover 
could  see  him  standing  there,  almost  the  last  of  all,  and 
long  after  the  figure  itself  was  lost  in  the  blur  of  the  back 
ground  he  still  saw  the  tiny  white  dot  of  the  handkerchief 
moving  back  and  forth,  as  if  spelling  out  a  signal  to  him 
across  the  water. 

The  fog  drew  a  little  higher  as  they  passed  down  the 
bay.  To  the  left  was  the  city  swarming  upon  its  hills,  a 
dull  gray  mass,  cut  in  parallel  furrows  by  the  streets; 
straggling  and  uneven  where  it  approached  the  sand- 
dunes  in  the  direction  of  the  Presidio.  To  the  right  the 
long  slope  of  Tamalpais  climbed  up  and  was  lost  in  the 
fog,  while  directly  in  front  of  them  was  the  Golden  Gate, 
a  bleak  prospect  of  fog-drenched  headlands  on  either 
side  of  a  narrow  strip  of  yellow,  frothy  water.  Beyond 
that,  the  open  Pacific. 

A  brisk  cannonade  was  going  on  from  the  Presidio  and 
from  Black  Point,  and  both  forts  were  hidden  behind  a  great 
curtain  of  tumbling  white  smoke  that  rolled  up  to  mingle 
with  the  fog.  Everybody  was  on  that  side  of  the  deck 
watching  and  making  guesses  as  to  the  reason  of  it.  It 
was  perhaps  target  practice.  Ah,  it  was  a  good  thing  that 
the  steamer  was  not  in  line  with  the  target.  Perhaps, 
though,  that  was  the  safest  place  to  be.  Some  one  told 
about  a  derelict  that  was  anchored  as  a  target  off  the  heads, 
and  shot  at  for  fifteen  hours  without  being  touched  once. 
Oh,  they  were  great  gunners  at  the  Presidio!  But  just 
the  same  the  sound  of  cannon  was  a  fine  thing  to  hear;  it 
excited  one.  A  noisy  party  of  gentlemen  already  in- 


116  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

stalled  in  the  smoking-room  came  out  on  deck  for  a  mo 
ment  with  their  cards  in  their  hands,  and  declared  laugh 
ingly  that  the  whole  thing  was  only  a  salute  in  the  Santa 
Rosa's  honour. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  Vandover  began  to  see 
that  for  him  the  trip  was  going  to  be  tedious.  He  knew 
no  one  on  board  and  had  come  away  so  hurriedly  that  he 
had  neglected  to  get  himself  any  interesting  books.  He 
spent  an  hour  or  two  promenading  the  upper  deck  until 
the  cold  wind  that  was  blowing  drove  him  to  the  smoking- 
room,  where  he  tried  to  interest  himself  in  watching  some 
of  the  whist  games  that  were  in  progress. 

It  surprised  him  that  he  could  find  occasion  to  be  bored 
so  soon  after  what  had  happened;  but  he  no  longer  wished 
to  occupy  his  mind  by  brooding  over  anything  so  dis 
agreeable  and  wanted  some  sort  of  amusement  to  divert 
and  entertain  him.  Vandover  had  so  accustomed  him 
self  to  that  kind  of  self-indulgence  that  he  could  not  go 
long  without  it.  It  had  become  a  simple  necessity  for 
him  to  be  amused,  and  just  now  he  thought  himself  jus 
tified  in  seeking  it  in  order  to  forget  about  Ida's  death. 
He  had  dwelt  upon  this  now  for  nearly  four  days,  until  it 
had  come  to  be  some  sort  of  a  formless  horror  that  it  was 
necessary  to  avoid.  He  could  get  little  present  enjoy 
ment  by  looking  forward  to  the  new  life  that  he  was  going 
to  begin  and  in  which  his  father,  his  art,  and  Turner 
Ravis  were  to  be  the  chief  influences.  The  thought  of 
this  prospect  did  give  him  pleasure,  but  he  had  for  so  long 
a  time  fed  his  mind  upon  the  more  tangible  and  concrete 
enjoyments  of  the  hour  and  minute  that  it  demanded  them 
now  continually. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  117 

He  sat  for  a  long  time  upon  the  slippery  leather  cush 
ions  of  the  smoking-room  trying  desperately  to  become 
interested  in  the  whist  game,  or  gazing  awestruck  at  the 
man  at  his  elbow  who  was  smoking  black  Perrique  in  a 
pipe,  inhaling  the  smoke  and  blowing  it  out  through  his 
nose.  After  a  while  he  returned  to  the  deck. 

There  it  was  cold  and  wet  and  a  strong  wind  was  blow 
ing  from  the  ocean.  Four  miles  to  the  east  an  endless 
procession  of  brown,  bare  hills  filed  slowly  past  under  the 
fog.  The  sky  was  a  dreary  brown  and  the  leagues  of 
shifting  water  a  melancholy  desert  of  gray.  Besides  these 
there  was  nothing  but  the  bleached  hills  and  the  drifting 
fog;  the  wind  blew  continually,  passing  between  the  im 
mense  reaches  of  sea  and  sky  with  prolonged  sighs  of 
infinite  sadness. 

Three  seagulls  followed  the  vessel,  now  in  a  long  line, 
now  abreast,  and  now  in  a  triangle.  They  sailed  slowly 
about,  dipping  and  rising  in  the  vast  hollows  between  the 
waves,  turning  their  heads  constantly  from  side  to  side. 

Vandover  went  to  the  stern  and  for  a  time  found  amuse 
ment  in  watching  the  indicator  of  the  patent  log,  and  lis 
tening  for  its  bell.  But  his  interest  in  this  was  soon 
exhausted,  and  he  returned  to  the  smoking-room  again, 
reflecting  that  this  was  only  the  first  afternoon  and  that 
there  still  remained  two  days  that  somehow  had  to  be 
gone  through  with. 

About  five  o'clock,  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  get  a  glass  of 
seltzer,  he  saw  Grace  Irving,  the  girl  of  the  red  hat  whom 
he  had  met  at  the  Mechanics'  Fair,  sitting  on  a  camp- 
stool  just  inside  of  her  stateroom  eating  a  banana.  The 
sight  of  her  startled  him  out  of  all  composure  for  the  min- 


118  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

ute.  His  first  impulse  was  to  speak  to  her,  but  he  re 
flected  that  he  was  done  with  all  that  now  and  that  it  was 
better  for  him  to  pass  on  as  though  he  had  not  seen  her, 
but  as  he  came  in  front  of  her  she  looked  up  quickly  and 
nodded  to  him  very  pleasantly  in  such  a  way  that  it  was 
evident  she  had  already  known  he  was  on  board.  It  was 
impossible  for  Vandover  to  ignore  her,  and  though  he  did 
not  stop,  he  looked  back  at  her  and  smiled  as  he  took  off  his 
hat. 

He  went  down  to  supper  in  considerable  agitation,  mar 
velling  at  the  coincidence  that  had  brought  them  to 
gether  again.  He  wondered,  too,  how  she  could  be  so 
pleasant  to  him  now,  for  as  a  matter  of  course  he  had  not 
kept  the  engagement  he  had  made  with  her  at  the  Fair. 
At  the  same  time,  he  felt  that  she  must  think  him  a  great 
fool  not  to  have  stopped  and  spoken  to  her;  either  he 
should  have  done  that  or  else  have  ignored  her  little  bow 
entirely.  He  was  firmly  resolved  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  her,  yet  it  chafed  him  to  feel  that  she  thought  him 
diffident.  It  seemed  now  as  though  he  owed  it  to  himself 
to  speak  to  her  if  only  for  a  minute  and  make  some  sort 
of  an  excuse.  By  the  time  he  had  finished  his  supper,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  this,  and  then  to  avoid  her  for 
the  rest  of  the  trip. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  dining  saloon  he  met  her  coming 
down  the  stairs  alone,  dressed  very  prettily  in  a  checked 
travelling  ulster  with  a  gray  velvet  collar,  and  a  little  fore 
and  aft  cap  to  match.  He  stopped  her  and  made  his 
excuses;  she  did  not  say  much  in  reply  and  seemed  a  little 
offended,  so  that  Vandover  could  not  refrain  from  adding 
that  he  was  very  glad  to  see  her  on  board. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  119 

"Ah,  you  don't  seem  as  if  you  were,  very,"  she  said, 
putting  out  her  chin  at  him  prettily  and  passing  on.  It 
was  an  awkward  and  embarrassing  little  scene  and  Van- 
dover  was  glad  that  it  was  over.  But  the  thing  had  been 
done  now,  he  had  managed  to  show  the  girl  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  keep  up  the  acquaintance  begun  at  the  Fair, 
and  from  now  on  she  would  keep  out  of  his  way. 

He  took  a  few  turns  on  the  upper  deck,  smoking  his 
pipe,  walking  about  fast,  while  his  dinner  digested.  The 
sun  went  down  behind  the  black  horizon  in  an  immense 
blood-red  nebula  of  mist,  the  sea  turned  from  gray  to  dull 
green  and  then  to  a  lifeless  brown,  and  the  Santa  Rosa's 
lights  began  to  glow  at  her  quarters  and  at  her  masthead; 
in  her  stern  the  screw  drummed  and  threshed  monoto 
nously,  a  puff  of  warm  air  reeking  with  the  smell  of  hot 
oil  came  from  the  engine  hatch,  and  in  an  instant  Vandover 
saw  again  the  curved  roof  of  the  immense  iron-vaulted 
depot,  the  passengers  on  the  platform  staring  curiously 
at  the  group  around  the  invalid's  chair,  the  repair  gang 
in  spotted  blue  overalls,  and  the  huge  white  cat  dozing 
on  an  empty  baggage  truck. 

The  wind  freshened  and  he  returned  to  the  smoking- 
room  to  get  warm.  The  same  game  of  whist  was  going  on, 
and  the  man  with  the  Perrique  tobacco  had  filled  another 
pipe  and  continued  to  blow  the  smoke  through  his  nose. 

After  a  while  Vandover  went  back  to  the  main  deck 
and  wandered  aft,  where  he  stood  a  long  time  looking 
over  the  stern,  interested  in  watching  the  receding  water. 
It  was  dark  by  this  time,  the  wind  had  increased  and  had 
blown  the  fog  to  landward,  and  the  ocean  had  changed  to 
a  deep  blue,  the  blue  of  the  sky  at  night;  here  and  there  a 


120  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

wave  broke,  leaving  a  line  of  white  on  the  sea  like  the  trail 
of  a  falling  star  across  the  heavens,  while  the  white  haze 
of  the  steamer's  wake  wandered  vaguely  across  the  intense 
blue  like  the  milky  way  across  the  zenith. 

Vandover  was  horribly  bored.  There  seemed  to  be  ab 
solutely  nothing  to  amuse  him,  unless,  indeed,  he  should 
decide  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  Grace  Irving.  But 
this  was  out  of  the  question  now,  for  he  knew  what  it 
would  lead  to.  Even  if  he  should  yield  to  the  temptation, 
he  did  not  see  how  he  could  take  any  great  pleasure  in 
that  sort  of  thing  again,  after  what  had  happened. 

Of  all  the  consequences  of  what  he  had  done,  the  one 
which  had  come  to  afflict  him  the  most  poignantly  was 
that  his  enjoyment  of  life  was  spoiled.  At  first  he  had 
thought  that  he  never  could  take  pleasure  in  anything 
again  so  long  as  he  should  live,  that  his  good  times  were 
gone.  But  as  his  pliable  character  rearranged  itself  to 
suit  the  new  environment,  he  began  to  see  that  there 
would  come  a  time  when  he  would  grow  accustomed  to 
Ida's  death  and  when  his  grief  would  lose  its  sharp 
ness.  He  had  even  commenced  to  look  forward  to  this 
time  and  to  long  for  it  as  a  sort  of  respite  and  relief.  He 
believed  at  first  that  it  would  not  be  for  a  great  many 
years;  but  even  so  soon  after  the  suicide  as  this,  he  saw 
with  a  little  thrill  of  comfort  that  it  would  be  but  a  matter 
of  months.  At  the  same  time  Vandover  was  surprised 
and  even  troubled  at  the  ease  with  which  he  was  recov 
ering  from  the  first  shock.  He  wondered  at  himself,  be 
cause  he  knew  he  had  been  sincere  in  his  talk  with  his 
father.  Vandover  was  not  given  to  self -analysis,  but  now 
for  a  minute  he  was  wondering  if  this  reaction  were  due 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  121 

to  his  youth,  his  good  health  and  his  good  spirits,  or 
whether  there  was  something  wrong  with  him.  However, 
he  dismissed  these  thoughts  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders 
as  though  freeing  himself  from  some  disagreeable  burden. 
Ah,  he  was  no  worse  than  the  average;  one  could  get  ac 
customed  to  almost  anything;  it  was  only  in  the  books 
that  people  had  their  lives  ruined;  and  to  brood  over  such 
things  was  unnatural  and  morbid.  Ah!  what  a  dreadful 
thing  to  become  morbid!  He  could  not  bring  Ida  back, 
or  mitigate  what  he  had  done,  or  be  any  more  sorry  for 
it  by  making  himself  miserable.  Well,  then!  Only  he 
would  let  that  sort  of  thing  alone  after  this,  the  lesson  had 
been  too  terrible;  he  would  try  and  enjoy  himself  again, 
only  it  should  be  in  other  ways. 

Later  in  the  evening,  about  nine  o'clock,  when  nearly 
all  the  passengers  were  in  bed,  and  Vandover  was  leaning 
over  the  side  of  the  boat  finishing  his  pipe  before  turning 
in  himself,  Grace  Irving  came  out  of  her  stateroom  and 
sat  down  at  a  little  distance  from  him,  looking  out  over 
the  water,  humming  a  little  song.  She  and  Vandover 
were  the  only  people  to  be  seen  on  the  deserted  prome 
nade. 

Vandover  saw  her  without  moving,  only  closing  his 
teeth  tighter  on  his  pipe.  It  was  evident  that  Grace  ex 
pected  him  to  speak  to  her  and  had  given  him  a  chance  for 
an  admirable  little  tete-a-tete.  For  a  moment  Vandover 's 
heart  knocked  at  his  throat;  he  drew  his  breath  once  or 
twice  sharply  through  his  nose.  In  an  instant  all  the  old 
evil  instincts  were  back  again,  urging  and  clamouring  never 
so  strong,  never  so  insistent.  But  Vandover  set  his  face 
against  them,  honestly,  recalling  his  resolution,  telling 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

himself  that  he  was  done  with  that  life.  As  he  had  said, 
the  lesson  had  been  too  terrible. 

He  turned  about  resolutely,  and  walked  slowly  away 
from  her.  The  girl  looked  after  him  a  moment,  surprised, 
and  then  called  out : 

"Oh,  Mr,  Vandover!" 

Vandover  paused  a  moment,  looking  back. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  went  on.  "Didn't  you 
see  me  here?  Don't  you  want  to  come  and  talk  to  me?  " 

"No,"  answered  Vandover,  smiling  good-humouredly, 
trying  to  be  as  polite  as  was  possible.  "No,  I  don't." 
Then  he  took  a  sudden  resolution,  and  added  gravely, 
"I  don't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  you." 

In  his  stateroom,  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  berth 
winding  his  watch  before  going  to  bed,  he  thought  over 
what  he  had  said.  "That  was  a  mean  way  to  talk  to  a 
girl,"  he  told  himself,  "but,"  he  added,  "it's  the  only 
thing  to  do.  I  simply  couldn't  start  in  again  after  all 
that's  happened.  Oh,  yes,  that  was  the  right  thing  to 
do!" 

He  felt  a  glow  of  self-respect  for  his  firmness  and  his 
decision,  a  pride  in  the  unexpected  strength,  the  fine 
moral  rigour  that  he  had  developed  at  the  critical  mo 
ment.  He  could  turn  sharp  around  when  he  wanted  to, 
after  all.  Ah,  yes,  that  was  the  only  thing  to  do  if  one 
was  to  begin  all  over  again  and  live  down  what  had  hap 
pened.  He  wished  that  the  governor  might  know  how 
well  he  had  acted. 


CHAPTER  NINE 

VANDOVER  stayed  foe-two  weeks  at  Coronado  Beach 
and  managed  to  pass  the  time  very  pleasantly.  L  He  was 
fortunate  enough  to  find  a  party  at  the  hotel  whom  he 
knew  very  well.  In  the  morning  they  bathed  or  sailed 
on  the  bay,  and  in  the  afternoon  rode  out  with  a  pack  of 
greyhounds  and  coursed  jack-rabbits  on  the  lower  end  of 
the  island.  Vandover's  good  spirits  began  to  come  back 
to  him,  his  appetite  returned,  his  nerves  steadied  them 
selves,  he  slept  eight  hours  every  night.  But  for  all  that 
he  did  not  think  that  things  were  the  same  with  him.  He 
said  to  himself  that  he  was  a  changed  man;  that  he  was 
older,  more  serious. 

During  this  time  he  received  several  letters  from  his 
father  which  he  answered  very  promptly.  In  the  course 
of  their  correspondence  it  was  arranged  that  they  should 
both  leave  for  Europe  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  that  month, 
and  that  consequently,  Vandover  should  return  to  the 
city  not  later  than  the  fifteenth.  Vandover  was  having 
such  a  good  time,  however,  that  he  stayed  over  the  regular 
steamer  in  order  to  go  upon  a  moonlight  picnic  down  on 
the  beach.  The  next  afternoon  he  took  passage  for  San 
Francisco  on  a  second-class  boat. 

This  homeward  passage  turned  out  to  be  one  long  misery 
for  Vandover.  He  had  never  been  upon  a  second-class 
boat  before  and  had  never  imagined  that  anything  could 

123 


124  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

be  so  horribly  uncomfortable  or  disagreeable.  The  Maz- 
atlan  was  overcrowded,  improperly  ballasted,  and  rolled 
continually.  The  table  was  bad,  the  accommodations  in 
adequate,  the  passengers  hopelessly  uncongenial.  Cold 
and  foggy  weather  accompanied  the  boat  continually. 
The  same  endless  procession  of  bleached  hills  still  filed  past 
under  the  mist,  going  now  in  the  opposite  direction,  and 
the  same  interminable  game  of  whist  was  played  in  the 
smoking-room,  only  with  greasier,  second-class  cards, 
amidst  the  acrid  smoke  of  second-class  tobacco.  At  sup 
per,  the  first  day  out,  a  little  Jew  who  sat  next  to  Van- 
dover,  and  who  invariably  wore  a  plush  skull-cap  with 
ear-laps,  tried  to  sell  him  two  flawed  and  yellow  diamonds. 

The  evening  after  leaving  Port  Hartford  the  Mazat- 
lan  ran  into  dirty  weather.  It  was  not  stormy  —  simply 
rough,  disagreeable,  the  wind  and  sea  directly  ahead. 
Half  an  hour  after  supper  Vandover  began  to  be  sick. 
For  a  long  time  he  sat  on  the  slippery  leather  cushions  in 
the  nasty  smoking-room,  sucking  limes,  drinking  seltzer, 
and  trying  to  be  interested  in  the  card  games.  He  dozed 
a  little  and  awoke,  feeling  wretched,  covered  with  a  cold 
sweat,  racked  by  a  pain  in  the  back  of  his  head,  and  tor 
tured  by  an  abominable  nausea.  He  groped  his  way  out 
upon  the  swaying,  gusty  deck,  descended  to  his  cabin, 
and  went  to  bed. 

The  Mazatlan  had  booked  more  passengers  than  could 
be  accommodated,  the  steward  being  obliged  to  make  up 
beds  on  the  floor  of  the  dining  saloon  and  even  upon  some 
of  the  tables.  Vandover  had  not  been  able  to  get  a  state 
room,  and  so  had  put  up  with  a  bunk  in  the  common 
cabin  at  the  stern  of  the  vessel. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  125 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  woke  up  in  this 
place  frightfully  sick  at  the  stomach  and  wretched  in 
body  and  mind.  He  had  an  upper  bunk,  and  for  a  long 
time  he  lay  on  his  back  rolling  about  with  the  rolling  of 
the  steamer,  vaguely  staring  straight  above  him  at  the 
roof  of  the  cabin,  hardly  a  hand's-breadth  above  his  face. 
The  roof  was  iron,  painted  with  a  white  paint  very  thick 
and  shiny,  and  was  studded  with  innumerable  bolt-heads 
and  enormous  nuts.  By  and  by,  for  no  particular  reason, 
he  rose  on  his  elbow  and,  leaning  over  the  side  of  his 
berth,  looked  about  him. 

The  light  streaming  from  two  strong-smelling  ship's 
lanterns  showed  the  cabin,  long  and  narrow.  There 
were  two  cramped  passageways,  on  either  side  of  which  the 
tiers  of  bunks,  mere  open  racks  filled  with  bedding,  rose 
to  the  roof,  those  occupied  by  women  hung  with  spotted 
turkey-red  calico. 

The  cabin  was  two  decks  below  the  open  air  and  every 
berth  was  occupied,  the  only  ventilation  being  through 
the  door.  The  air  was  foul  with  the  stench  of  bilge, 
the  reek  of  the  untrimmed  lamps,  the  exhalation  of  so 
many  breaths,  and  the  close,  stale  smell  of  warm  bedding. 

A  vague  murmur  rose  in  the  air,  the  sound  of  deep 
breathing,  the  moving  of  restless  bodies  between  the 
coarse  sheets,  the  momentary  noise  of  the  scratching  of 
blunt  finger-tips,  a  subdued  cough,  the  moan  of  a  sleeping 
child.  All  the  while  the  shaft  of  the  screw,  seemingly 
close  beneath  the  floor,  pounded  and  rumbled  without  a 
moment's  stop. 

Immediately  underneath  Vandover  two  men,  saloon 
keepers,  awoke  and  lit  their  cigars  and  began  a  long  dis- 


126  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

cussion  on  the  question  of  license.  Two  or  three  bunks 
distant,  a  woman,  a  Salvation  Army  lassie,  one  of  a  large 
party  of  Salvationists  who  were  on  board,  began  to  cough 
violently,  choking  for  breath.  Across  the  aisle  the  little 
Jew  of  the  plush  skull-cap  with  ear-laps  snored  monoto 
nously  in  alternate  keys,  one  a  guttural  bass,  the  other  a 
rasping  treble.  The  Mazatlan  was  rolling  worse  than 
ever,  now  up  and  down,  now  from  side  to  side,  and  now 
with  long  forward  lurches  that  combined  the  other  two 
motions.  During  one  of  these  latter  the  little  Jew  was 
half  awakened.  He  stopped  snoring,  leaving  an  abrupt 
silence  in  the  air.  Then  Vandover  could  hear  him  thresh 
ing  about  uneasily;  still  half  asleep  he  began  to  mutter 
and  swear:  "Dat's  it,  r-roll;  I  woult  if  I  were  you;  r-roll, 
dat's  righd  —  dhere,  soh  —  ah,  geep  it  oop  —  r-roll,  you 
damnt  ole  tub,  yust  r-r-roll." 

The  continued  pitching,  the  foul  air,  and  the  bitter 
smoke  from  the  saloonkeepers'  cigars  became  more  than 
Vandover  could  stand.  His  stomach  turned,  at  every  in 
stant  he  gagged  and  choked.  He  suddenly  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  determined  to 
go  on  deck,  preferring  to  walk  the  night  out  rather  than 
spend  it  in  the  cabin.  He  drew  on  his  shoes  without  lacing 
them,  and  dressed  himself  hurriedly,  omitting  his  collar 
and  scarf;  he  put  his  hat  on  his  tumbled  hair,  swung  into 
his  overcoat,  and,  wrapping  his  travelling-rug  around 
him,  started  up  toward  the  deck.  On  the  stairs  he  was 
seized  with  such  a  nausea  that  he  could  hardly  keep  from 
vomiting  where  he  stood,  but  he  rushed  out  upon  the  lower 
deck,  gaining  the  rail  with  a  swimming  head. 

He  sank  back  upon  an  iron  capstan  with  a  groan,  weak 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  127 

and  trembling,  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  a  bursting  feeling  in 
his  head.     He  was  utterly  miserable. 

It  was  about  half -past  two  in  the  morning,  and  a  cold 
raw  wind  was  whistling  through  the  cordage  and  flinging 
the  steamer's  smoke  down  upon  the  decks  and  upon  the 
water  like  a  great  veil  of  crepe.  A  sickly  half-light  was 
spread  out  between  the  sea  and  the  heavens.  By  its 
means  he  could  barely  distinguish  great,  livid  blotches  of 
fog  or  cloud  whirling  across  the  black  sky,  and  the  unnum 
bered  multitude  of  white-topped  waves  rushing  past, 
plunging  and  rising  like  a  vast  herd  of  black  horses  gal 
loping  on  with  shaking  white  manes.  Low  in  the  north 
east  horizon  lay  a  long  pale  blur  of  light  against  which  the 
bow  of  the  steamer,  inky  black,  rose  and  fell  and  heaved 
and  sank  incessantly.  To  the  landward  side  and  very  near 
at  hand,  so  near  that  he  could  hear  the  surf  at  their  feet, 
the  long  procession  of  hills  continually  defiled,  vague  and 
formless  masses  between  the  sea  and  sky.  The  wind,  the 
noise  of  the  waves  rushing  past,  the  roll  of  the  breakers  and 
the  groaning  of  the  cordage  all  blended  together  and  filled 
the  air  with  a  prolonged  minor  note,  lamentable  beyond 
words.  The  atmosphere  was  cold  and  damp,  the  spray  fly 
ing  like  icy  bullets.  The  sombre  light  that  hung  over  the 
sea  reflected  itself  in  long  blurred  streaks  upon  the  wet 
decks  and  slippery  iron  rods.  Here  and  there  about  the 
rigging  a  tremulous  ball  of  orange  haze  showed  where  the 
ship's  lanterns  were  swung.  Directly  under  him  in  the 
stern  the  screw  snarled  incessantly  in  a  vortex  of  boiling 
water  that  forever  swirled  away  and  was  lost  in  the  dark 
ness.  From  time  to  time  the  indicator  of  the  patent  log, 
just  beside  him,  rang  its  tiny  bell. 


128  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Vandover  drew  his  rug  about  him  and  went  up  to 
the  main  deck,  dragging  his  shoelaces  after  him.  The 
wind  was  stronger  here,  but  he  bent  his  head  against  it 
and  went  on  toward  the  smoking-room,  for  the  idea  had 
occurred  to  him  that  he  could  shut  himself  in  there  and 
pass  the  rest  of  the  night  upon  the  cushions;  anything  was 
better  than  returning  to  the  cabin  downstairs. 

The  deck  was  jerked  away  from  beneath  his  feet,  and  he 
was  hurled  forward,  many  times  his  own  length,  against 
a  companionway,  breaking  his  thumb  as  he  fell.  A  sec 
ond  shock  threw  him  down  again  as  he  rose;  everything 
about  him  shook  and  danced  like  glassware  upon  a  jarred 
table.  Then  the  whole  ship  rose  under  his  feet  as  no  wave 
had  ever  lifted  it,  and  fell  again,  not  into  yielding  water, 
but  upon  something  that  drove  through  its  sides  as  if  they 
had  been  paper.  A  deafening,  crashing  noise  split  the 
mournful  howl  of  the  wind,  and  far  underneath  him  Van 
dover  heard  a  rapid  series  of  blows,  a  dreadful  rumbling 
and  pounding  that  thrilled  and  quivered  through  all  the 
vessel's  framework  up  to  her  very  mast-tips.  On  all 
fours  upon  the  deck,  holding  to  a  cleat  with  one  hand,  he 
braced  himself,  watching  and  listening,  his  senses  all  alive, 
his  muscles  tense.  In  the  direction  of  the  engine-room 
he  heard  the  furious  ringing  of  a  bell.  The  screw  stopped. 
The  Mazatlan  wallowed  helplessly  in  the  trough  of  the 
sea. 

Vandover's  very  first  impulse  was  a  wild  desire  of  saving 
himself;  he  had  not  the  least  thought  for  any  one  else. 
Every  soul  on  board  might  drown,  so  only  he  should  be 
saved.  It  was  the  primitive  animal  instinct,  the  blind 
adherence  to  the  first  great  law,  an  impulse  that  in  this 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  129 

first  moment  of  excitement  could  not  be  resisted.  He  ran 
forward  and  snatched  a  life-preserver  from  the  pile  that 
was  stored  beneath  the  bridge. 

As  he  was  fastening  it  about  him,  the  passengers  began 
to  pour  out  upon  the  deck,  from  their  staterooms,  from  the 
companionways,  and  from  the  dining  saloon.  In  an  in 
stant  the  deck  was  crowded.  Men  and  women  ran  about 
in  all  directions,  pushing  and  elbowing  each  other,  calling 
shrilly  over  one  another's  heads.  Near  to  Vandover  a 
woman,  clothed  only  in  her  night-dress,  clung  to  the  arm 
of  a  half-dressed  man,  crying  again  and  again  for  a  cer 
tain  "August."  She  wrung  her  hands  in  her  excitement; 
at  times  the  man  shouted  "August!"  in  a  quavering  bass 
voice.  "August,  here  we  are  over  here!"  "Oh,  where  is 
Gussie?"  wailed  the  woman.  "Here,  here  I  am,"  another 
voice  answered  at  length;  "here  I  am,  I'm  all  right." 
"Oh,"  exclaimed  the  woman  with  a  sob  of  relief,  "here's 
Gussie;  now  let's  all  keep  together  whatever  happens." 

All  about  the  decks  just  such  scenes  were  going  on;  most 
of  the  women  wore  only  their  night-gowns  or  dressing- 
gowns,  their  hair  tumbling  down  and  blowing  about  their 
cheeks,  their  bare  feet  slipping  and  sliding  on  the  heaving 
wet  decks.  The  men  were  in  shirt  and  drawers,  standing 
in  the  centre  of  their  family  groups,  silent,  excited,  very 
watchful;  others  of  them  ran  about  searching  for  life- 
preservers,  shouting  hoarsely,  talking  to  themselves,  speak 
ing  all  their  thoughts  aloud. 

But  there  was  no  panic;  there  was  excitement,  confu 
sion,  bewilderment,  but  no  excess  of  fear,  no  unreasoning 
terror,  deaf,  blind,  utterly  reckless. 

All  at  once  a  man  parted  the  crowd  with  shoulders  and 


130  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

I 
elbows,  passing  along  the  deck  with  great  strides.     It  was 

the  captain.  The  next  instant  Vandover  saw  him  on 
the  bridge,  hatless,  without  his  vest  or  his  coat,  just  as  he 
had  sprung  from  his  berth.  From  time  to  time  he  shouted 
his  orders,  leaning  over  the  rail,  gesturing  with  his  arm. 
The  crew  ran  about,  carrying  out  his  directions,  jostling 
the  men  out  of  the  way,  knocking  over  women  and  chil 
dren,  speaking  to  no  one,  intent  only  upon  their  work. 

In  a  few  moments  the  deck  steward  and  one  of  the  offi 
cers  appeared  amid  the  crowd  of  passengers.  They  were 
very  calm,  and  at  every  instant  shouted,  "There  is  no 
danger;  every  one  go  back  to  his  berth;  clear  the  deck, 
please;  no  danger,  gentlemen;  everybody  be  quiet;  go  back 
to  your  berths ! "  The  steward  even  came  up  to  Vandover 
and  pulled  at  the  straps  of  his  life-preserver,  exclaiming, 
"Take  this  off!  there  is  no  danger;  you're  only  exciting  the 
other  passengers.  Come  on,  take  it  off  and  go  back  to 
your  berth." 

Vandover  obeyed  him,  slowly  loosening  the  buckles, 
looking  around  him,  bewildered,  but  still  holding  the  pre 
server  in  his  hands. 

Best  of  all,  however,  was  the  example  of  a  huge  old  fel 
low  wearing  the  cap  and  clothes  of  a  boatswain's  mate  of  a 
United  States  battleship;  he  seemed  to  dominate  the  ex 
cited  throng  in  a  moment,  going  about  from  group  to 
group,  quieting  them  all,  spreading  a  feeling  of  confidence 
and  courage  throughout  the  whole  ship.  He  was  an  in 
spiration  to  Vandover,  who  began  to  be  ashamed  of  having 
yielded  to  the  first  selfish  instinct  of  preservation. 

Just  as  the  boatswain's  mate  was  offering  his  flask  to 
the  woman  whom  Vandover  had  heard  calling  for  "Aug- 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  .131 

ust,"  the  Mazatlan  lurched  heavily  once  or  twice,  and  then 
slowly  listed  to  the  port  side,  going  over  farther  and  far 
ther  every  instant.  Vandover  heard  a  renewed  rumbling 
and  smashing  noise  far  beneath  him,  and  in  some  way 
knew  that  the  cargo  was  shifting.  Instead  of  righting 
herself,  the  ship  began  to  heave  over  more  and  more. 
The  whole  sea  on  the  port  side  seemed  to  rise  up  to  meet 
the  rail;  under  Vandover's  feet  the  incline  of  the  deck  grew 
steeper  and  steeper.  All  at  once  his  excitement  came  back 
upon  him  with  the  sharpness  of  a  blow,  and  he  caught  at 
the  brass  grating  of  a  skylight  exclaiming:  "By  God! 
we're  going  over."  The  women  screamed  with  terror; 
one  heard  the  men  shouting,  "Look  out!  hold  on!  catch 
hold  there!"  An  old  man,  wearing  only  a  gray  flannel 
shirt,  lost  his  footing;  he  fell,  and  rolled  over  and  over 
down  the  deck  stupidly,  inertly,  without  making  the  slight 
est  effort  to  save  himself,  without  uttering  the  least  cry; 
he  brought  up  suddenly  against  the  rail,  with  a  great  jar, 
the  shock  of  his  soft,  withered  body  against  the  hard  wood 
sounding  like  the  sodden  impact  of  a  bundle  of  damp 
clothes.  There  was  a  cry ;  they  thought  him  killed  —  Van 
dover  had  seen  his  head  gashed  against  a  sharp  angle  of 
iron  —  but  he  jumped  up  with  sudden  agility,  clambering 
up  the  slope  of  the  deck  with  the  strength  and  rapidity  of 
an  acrobat. 

There  had  been  a  great  rush  to  the  other  side  of  the  ship, 
a  wild  scrambling  up  the  steep  deck,  over  skylights  and 
between  masts  and  ventilators.  People  clung  to  any 
thing,  to  cleats,  to  steamer  chairs,  to  the  brass  railings, 
to  the  person  who  stood  next  to  them.  They  no  longer 
listened  to  the  protestations  of  the  brave  boatswain? 


132  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

mate;  that  last  long  roll  had  terrified  them.  The  sense  of 
a  great  catastrophe  began  to  spread  and  widen  all  about 
like  the  rising  of  some  fearful  invisible  mist.  "  What  had 
happened?  What  was  to  become  of  them?" 

While  Vandover  clung  to  the  starboard  rail,  rolling  his 
eyes  wildly,  trying  to  control  himself  again,  a  young  man, 
a  waiter  in  the  dining  saloon,  rushed  up  to  him  from  out 
of  the  crowd,  holding  out  his  hand.  "It's  all  up!"  he 
shouted. 

Vandover  grasped  his  extended  palm,  shaking  hands 
with  him  fervently,  without  knowing  why.  The  two 
looked  straight  into  each  other's  eyes,  their  hands  gripped 
close;  then  the  waiter  turned  away,  and  dropping  on  his 
knees  began  to  pray  silently  to  himself. 

Vandover  saw  a  great  many  others  praying;  there  was 
even  a  large  group  gathered  about  the  band  of  Salvation 
ists  trying  to  raise  a  hymn.  Every  now  and  then  their 
voices  could  be  heard,  singing  all  out  of  tune,  a  medley 
of  discords. 

At  one  time  Vandover  caught  sight  of  the  little  Jew  of 
the  plush  cap  with  the  ear-laps;  he  was  grovelling  upon  the 
deck,  huddling  a  small  black  satchel  to  his  breast;  without 
a  moment's  pause  he  screamed,  "God  'a'  mercy!  God  'a* 
mercy!" 

The  sight  revolted  Vandover  and  in  a  great  measure 
helped  to  calm  him.  In  a  few  moments  he  had  himself 
in  hand  again,  cool  and  self-collected,  resolved  not  to  act 
like  a  fool  before  the  others,  but  to  help  them  if  he  could. 

Near  to  him  a  Salvation  Army  lassie  was  down  upon  her 
knees  trying  to  cord  up  a  huge  bundle  wrapped  in  sail 
cloth.  "Here,"  exclaimed  Vandover  coming  up  to  her, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  133 

"let  me  help.  I'll  tie  this  for  you  —  you  put  this  on." 
He  took  the  wet,  stiff  ropes  from  between  her  fingers  and 
held  the  life-preserver  toward  her;  but  she  refused  it. 

"No,"  she  cried  enthusiastically,  "I'm  going  to  be 
saved  anyhow;  I  ain't  going  to  drown;  Jesus  is  watching 
over  me.  Oh!"  she  suddenly  exclaimed  with  a  burst  of 
fervor,  "Jesus  is  going  to  save  me.  I  know  I'm  going  to 
be  saved.  I  feel  it,  I  feel  it  here,"  and  she  struck  her  palm 
on  the  breast  of  the  man's  red  jersey  she  was  wearing. 

"Well,  I  wish  I  could  have  such  a  confidence,"  answered 
Vandover,  sincerely  envying  the  plain  little  woman  under 
the  ugly  blue  bonnet. 

She  seemed  as  if  inspired,  her  face  glowing.  "Only  be 
lieve;  that's  all,"  she  told  him.  "It  isn't  too  late  for  you 
now.  Ah,"  she  went  on,  smiling,  "ah,  you  don't  know 
what  it  is  in  a  time  like  this !  What  a  comfort !  What  a 
support!  Oh,  look,  look! "  she  cried,  breaking  off  and  start 
ing  to  her  feet.  "That  man  is  going  to  jump!" 

It  was  the  boatswain's  mate,  the  hero  who  had  filled  all 
the  passengers  with  his  own  coolness  and  courage,  who 
had  been  Vandover's  inspiration.  Some  strange  reaction 
seemed  to  have  seized  upon  him.  Of  a  sudden  he  rushed 
to  the  rail,  the  starboard  rail  that  was  heaved  so  high  out 
of  the  water,  stood  upon  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  with  a 
great  shout  jumped  over  the  side.  His  folly  was  as  in 
fectious  as  his  courage.  Four  more  men  followed  him, 
three  going  over  all  at  the  same  time,  and  a  fourth  a  little 
later,  hanging  an  instant  upon  the  outside  of  the  rail,  then 
dropping  down  feet  first,  disappearing  with  a  great  splash 
that  made  itself  heard  in  the  great  silence  that  had  sud 
denly  fallen  upon  the  throng. 


134  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Every  one  had  seen  what  had  happened;  a  thrill  of  fear 
and  apprehension  passed  over  them  all  like  a  cold  breath. 
They  were  silent,  struck  dumb,  feeling  the  presence  of 
death  close  by. 

Suddenly  a  long  flash  of  yellow  upon  the  bridge  made  a 
momentary  streak  on  the  darkness,  and  there  was  the  report 
of  a  gun.  A  minute  later  it  was  fired  again,  and  alter 
nating  with  it  the  Mazatlan's  whistle  began  to  roar,  like 
a  hoarse  shout  for  help.  Between  these  sounds  could  be 
heard  the  renewed  clamour  upon  the  decks,  the  shouting, 
the  screaming,  and  the  rush  of  many  feet;  the  little  chil 
dren  clung  about  the  knees  of  their  mothers,  shrieking  and 
wailing  monotonously,  "Oh,  mama  —  oh,  mama/"  rolling 
their  eyes  fearfully  behind  them. 

But  many  of  the  children,  even  some  of  the  older  pas 
sengers,  were  absolutely  silent,  dazed,  stupefied  with  terror 
and  excitement,  their  eyes  vague  and  distended,  looking 
slowly  about  them,  scarcely  daring  to  move  a  limb. 

Meanwhile  the  Mazatlan  was  settling  forward,  and  al 
ready  the  spray  was  beginning  to  fly  over  the  decks. 
Little  by  little  the  terror  increased;  people  threw  them 
selves  down  upon  the  deck,  rising  up  again,  their  arms 
raised  to  heaven,  praying  aloud,  screaming  the  same 
things  over  and  over  again.  The  Salvationists  tried  to 
raise  another  hymn,  but  the  sound  of  their  voices  was 
drowned  out  by  the  tumult,  the  roaring  of  the  whistle, 
the  barking  of  the  minute  guns,  the  straining  and  snapping 
of  the  cordage,  and  the  sound  of  waves  drawing  closer  and 
closer.  Prone  upon  the  deck,  his  arms  still  clasped  about 
his  black  satchel,  the  little  Jew  of  the  plush  cap  went  into 
some  kind  of  fit,  his  eyes  rolled  back,  his  teeth  grinding 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  135 

upon  each  other.  Vandover  turned  from  him  in  disgust. 
Then  he  looked  around  and  above  him,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  saying  aloud  to  himself: 

"It  looks  as  though  it  were  the  end  —  well!" 

All  at  once  Vandover  knew  that  the  water  had  reached 
the  boilers;  there  came  a  noise  of  hissing:  deafening, 
stunning;  white  billows  of  steam  poured  up  over  the  deck. 

It  was  no  longer  the  Mazatlan,  no  longer  a  thing  of  wood 
and  iron,  but  some  strange  huge  living  creature  that  was 
dying  there  under  his  feet,  some  enormous  brute  that  was 
plunging  and  writhing  in  its  last  agony,  its  belly  ripped 
open  by  a  hidden  enemy  that  struck  from  beneath,  its 
entrails  torn  out,  its  life-breath  going  from  it  in  great 
gasps  of  steam.  Suddenly  its  bellow  collapsed;  the  great 
bulk  was  sinking  lower;  the  enemy  was  in  its  very  vitals. 
The  great  hoarse  roar  dwindled  to  a  long  death  rattle, 
then  to  a  guttural  rasp;  all  at  once  it  ceased;  the  brute  was 
dead  —  the  Mazatlan  was  a  wreck. 

Almost  at  the  moment,  he  heard  an  order  shouted  twice 
from  the  bridge,  where  he  could  see  the  shadowy  figures 
of  the  captain  and  officers  moving  about  through  the 
clouds  of  steam  and  smoke  and  mist.  Immediately  there 
followed  the  shrill  piping  of  the  boatswain's  whistle;  one 
of  the  officers,  the  first  engineer,  and  some  half  dozen  of 
the  crew  came  dashing  through  the  crowd,  and  there  was  a 
great  shout  of  "  The  boats !  The  boats ! " 

The  crowd  broke  up,  rushing  here  and  there  about  the 
ship,  reforming  again  in  smaller  bands  by  the  boats  and 
life-rafts.  Vandover  followed  the  first  engineer,  running 
forward  toward  one  of  the  boats  in  the  bow. 

"Come  on!"  he  shouted  to  the  little  Salvationist  las- 


136  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

sie,  pausing  a  moment  to  help  her  with  her  heavy  canvas- 
covered  bundle.  "Come  on!  they're  going  to  lower  the 
boats." 

She  started  up  to  follow  him  and  the  boom  of  the  fore 
mast,  which  the  accident  had  in  some  way  loosened,  swung 
across  the  deck  at  the  same  moment.  Vandover  was  al 
ready  out  of  its  path  but  it  struck  the  young  woman 
squarely  across  the  back.  She  dropped  in  a  heap  upon 
the  deck,  then  her  body  slowly  straightened  out,  stiff  and 
rigid,  her  eyes  rapidly  opened  and  shut,  and  a  great  puff  of 
white  froth  slowly  started  from  her  mouth.  Vandover 
ran  forward  and  lifted  her  up,  but  her  back  was  broken; 
she  was  already  dead.  He  rose  to  his  feet  exclaiming  to 
himself,  "But  she  was  so  sure  —  she  knew  she  was  going 
to  be  saved,"  then  suddenly  fell  silent  again,  gazing  won- 
deringly  at  the  body,  disturbed,  very  thoughtful. 

When  Vandover  finally  reached  the  lifeboat,  he  found  a 
great  crowd  gathered  there;  three  people  were  already  in 
the  boat  itself.  The  first  engineer,  who  commanded  that 
boat,  and  three  of  the  crew  stood  by  the  falls  preparing  to 
cast  off.  Just  below  on  the  deck  of  the  Mazatlan  stood 
two  sailors  keeping  the  crowd  in  order,  continually  shout 
ing,  "Women  and  children  first!"  As  the  women  passed 
their  children  forward,  the  sailors  lifted  them  into  the 
boats,  some  shrieking,  others  silent  and  stupid  as  if 
stunned.  Then  the  women  were  helped  up;  the  men,  Van 
dover  among  them,  climbing  in  afterward.  The  davits 
were  turned  out  and  the  boat  was  swung  clear  of  the  ship's 
side. 

Vandover  looked  out  and  below  him  and  then  made  an 
involuntary  movement  to  regain  the  ship's  deck.  Far 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  137 

below  him,  or  so  at  least  it  seemed,  were  mountains  of 
tumbling  green  water,  huge,  relentless,  irresistible,  rush 
ing  on  by  thousands,  to  shatter  themselves  with  dreadful 
force  against  the  ship's  side.  It  seemed  simple  madness  to 
attempt  to  launch  the  boat;  even  the  sinking  wreck  would 
be  safer  than  this  chance.  Vandover  was  terrified,  again 
deserted  by  all  his  calmness  and  self-restraint. 

The  sailors  standing  in  the  bow  and  the  stern  let  out  the 
ropes  little  by  little,  the  vast  black  hulk  of  the  ship  began 
to  loom  up  above  them  all,  higher  and  higher,  and  to  their 
eyes  the  lifeboat  began  to  grow  smaller  and  smaller,  more 
and  more  frail,  more  and  more  pitiful. 

All  at  once  it  struck  the  water  with  a  crash,  in  an  in 
stant  it  was  tossed  up  again  in  the  air,  heaving  on  the  crest 
of  a  wave,  was  carried  in  and  dashed  up  against  the  ship, 
all  the  oars  on  that  side  snapping  in  an  instant.  It  was  a 
fearful  moment;  the  little  boat  was  unmanageable  in  an 
instant,  leaping  and  plunging  among  the  waves  like  a  ter 
rified  horse,  banged  and  battered  between  the  heaving 
water  and  the  hull  of  the  steamer  itself.  Vandover  be 
lieved  that  all  was  over;  he  partially  rose  from  his  seat 
preparing  to  jump  before  the  boat  should  swamp. 

There  was  an  interval  of  shouting  and  confusion,  the 
first  engineer  and  the  crew  leaning  over  the  sides  fending 
off  the  boat  with  the  stumps  of  the  oars  and  with  long 
boathooks.  Some  oars  were  shipped  to  the  other  side 
to  take  the  place  of  the  broken  ones,  and  a  score  of  hands 
tugging  at  them,  the  boat  was  at  length  pulled  away  out 
of  danger. 

The  lifeboat  had  been  built  to  hold  thirty-five  people; 
more  than  forty  had  crowded  into  it,  and  it  needed  all 


138  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

prudence  and  care  to  keep  it  afloat  in  the  heavy  seas  that 
were  running.  The  sailors  and  two  of  the  passengers 
were  at  the  oars,  while  the  first  engineer  took  command, 
standing  in  the  stern  at  the  steering-oar.  He  was  dressed 
in  a  suit  of  oilskins,  a  life-preserver  strapped  under  his 
arms;  he  wore  no  hat,  and  at  every  gust  his  drenched  hair 
and  beard  whipped  across  his  face. 

Just  as  the  boat  was  pulling  away  from  the  wreck,  Van- 
dover  and  the  others  saw  the  little  Jew  of  the  plush  cap 
with  the  ear-laps  standing  upon  the  rail  of  the  steamer, 
holding  to  a  stanchion.  He  believed  that  he  had  been 
abandoned,  and  screamed  after  them,  stretching  out  his 
hands.  The  engineer  turned  and  saw  him,  but  shook  his 
head.  "Give  way  there!"  he  commanded  the  men; 
"there's  no  more  room." 

The  Jew  flung  his  satchel  from  him  and  jumped;  for  a 
moment  he  disappeared,  then  suddenly  came  up  on  the 
crest  of  a  wave,  quite  close  to  them,  gasping  and  beating 
his  hands,  the  water  running  out  of  his  mouth,  and  his 
plush  cap,  glossy  with  wet,  all  awry  and  twisted  so  that 
one  ear-lap  hung  over  his  eye  like  a  shade.  In  another 
moment  he  had  grasped  one  of  the  oar-blades.  Every  one 
was  watching  and  there  was  a  cry,  "Draw  him  in!" 
But  the  engineer  refused. 

"It's  too  late!"  he  shouted,  partly  to  the  Jew  and  partly 
to  the  boat.  "One  more  and  we  are  swamped.  Let  go 
there!" 

"But  you  can't  let  him  drown,"  cried  Vandover  and  the 
others  who  sat  near.  "Oh,  take  him  in  anyhow;  we  must 
risk  it." 

"Risk   hell!"   thundered   the   engineer.     "Look  here. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  139 

you!"  he  cried  to  Vandover  and  the  rest.  "I'm  in  com 
mand  here  and  am  responsible  for  the  lives  of  all  of  you. 
It's  a  matter  of  his  life  or  ours;  one  life  or  forty.  One  more 
and  we  are  swamped.  Let  go  there!" 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  some.  "It's  too  late!  there's  no  more 
room!" 

But  others  still  protested.  "It's  too  horrible;  don't 
let  him  drown;  take  him  in."  They  threw  him  their 
life-preservers  and  the  stumps  of  the  broken  oars.  But 
the  Jew  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing,  clinging  to  the  oar- 
blade,  panting  and  stupid,  his  eyes  wide  and  staring. 

"Shake  him  off!"  commanded  the  engineer.  The 
sailor  at  the  oar  jerked  and  twisted  it,  but  the  Jew  still 
held  on,  silent  and  breathing  hard.  Vandover  glanced  at 
the  fearfully  overloaded  boat  and  saw  the  necessity  of  it 
and  held  his  peace,  watching  the  thing  that  was  being 
done.  The  sailor  still  attempted  to  tear  the  oar  from  the 
Jew's  grip,  but  the  Jew  held  on,  panting,  almost  exhausted; 
they  could  hear  his  breathing  in  the  boat.  "Oh,  don't!" 
he  gasped,  rolling  his  eyes. 

"Unship  that  oar  and  throw  it  overboard,"  shouted  the 
engineer. 

"Better  not,  sir,"  answered  the  sailor.  "Extra  oars 
all  broken."  The  Jew  was  hindering  the  progress  of  the 
boat  and  at  every  moment  it  threatened  to  turn  broad 
on  to  the  seas. 

"Goddamn  you,  let  go  there!"  shouted  the  engineer, 
himself  wrenching  and  twisting  at  the  oar.  "Let  go  or 
I'll  shoot!" 

But  the  Jew,  deaf  and  stupid,  drew  himself  along  the 
oar,  hand  over  hand,  and  in  a  moment  had  caught  hold  of 


140  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

the  gunwale  of  the  boat.  It  careened  on  the  instant. 
There  was  a  great  cry.  "  Push  him  off !  We're  swamping ! 
Push  him  off!"  And  one  of  the  women  cried  to  the  mate, 
"Don't  let  my  little  girls  drown,  sir!  Push  him  away! 
Save  my  little  girls!  Let  him  drown!" 

It  was  the  animal  in  them  all  that  had  come  to  the  sur 
face  in  an  instant,  the  primal  instinct  of  the  brute  striv 
ing  for  its  life  and  for  the  life  of  its  young. 

The  engineer,  exasperated,  caught  up  the  stump  of  one 
of  the  broken  oars  and  beat  on  the  Jew's  hands  where  they 
were  gripped  whitely  upon  the  boat's  rim,  shouting, 
"Let  go!  let  go!"  But  as  soon  as  the  Jew  relaxed  one 
hand  he  caught  again  with  the  other.  He  uttered  no  cry, 
but  his  face  as  it  came  and  went  over  the  gunwale  of  the 
boat  was  white  and  writhing.  When  he  was  at  length 
beaten  from  the  boat  he  caught  again  at  the  oar;  it  was 
drawn  in,  and  the  engineer  clubbed  his  head  and  arms  and 
hands  till  the  water  near  by  grew  red.  The  little  Jew 
clung  to  the  end  of  the  oar  like  a  cat,  writhing  and  grunt 
ing,  his  mouth  open,  and  his  eyes  fixed  and  staring.  When 
his  hands  were  gone,  he  tried  to  embrace  the  oar  with  his 
arms.  He  slid  off  in  the  hollow  of  a  wave,  his  body 
turned  over  twice,  and  then  he  sank,  his  head  thrown  back, 
his  eyes  still  open  and  staring,  and  a  silver  chain  of  bub 
bles  escaping  from  his  mouth. 

"Give  way,  men!"  said  the  engineer. 

"Oh,  God!"  exclaimed  Vandover,  turning  away  and 
vomiting  over  the  side. 

A  little  while  later  some  one  on  the  bow  of  the  boat 
called  to  the  engineer  asking  why  it  was  they  were  not 
heading  for  the  shore.  The  engineer  did  not  answer,  but 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  141 

Vandover  in  some  way  understood  that  it  was  too  danger 
ous  to  attempt  to  run  the  breakers  in  such  heavy  weather, 
and  that  they  must  keep  in  the  open,  holding  the  boat 
head  on  to  the  seas  until  either  the  wind  fell  or  they  were 
picked  up  by  some  other  vessel. 

It  was  still  very  dark,  and  seen  under  the  night  from  the 
little  boat,  the  ocean  and  the  sky  seemed  immense  and 
terrible;  the  great  waves  grew  out  of  the  obscurity  ahead 
of  them,  rushing  down  upon  the  boat,  big,  swelling,  silent, 
their  crests  occasionally  hissing  and  breaking  into  irruptions 
of  cold  white  froth.  As  one  of  them  would  draw  near,  the 
boat  would  rise  upon  it  as  though  it  would  never  stop, 
would  hang  a  moment  upon  its  summit  and  then  topple 
into  the  black  gulf  that  followed,  sending  the  bitter  icy 
spray  high  into  the  air.  The  wind  blew  steadily.  Sud 
denly  toward  three  o'clock  it  began  to  rain. 

Vandover,  the  engineer,  all  the  five  sailors,  and  two  of 
the  passengers  were  clothed.  The  rest  of  the  passengers 
were  little  better  than  naked.  Here  and  there  a  man  had 
snatched  a  blanket  from  his  berth,  and  one  or  two  of  them 
were  wearing  their  trousers,  but  the  rest  were  clothed  for 
the  most  part  only  with  their  shirts  and  drawers.  There 
were  eighteen  women  and  five  little  girls  in  the  boat. 
The  little  girls  w^ere  well  looked  after.  Two  were  wrapped 
in  Vandover's  travelling-rug  and  a  couple  of  men  had 
put  their  coats  around  the  third.  But  there  were  not 
wraps  enough  to  go  around  among  the  women,  by  far  the 
larger  part  of  them  were  covered  only  by  their  night-dresses 
or  their  bed-gowns. 

It  was  abominably  cold;  the  rain  fell  continually,  and  the 
wind  blew  in  long  gusts,  piercing,  cutting.  Every  plunge 


142  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

of  the  boat  threw  icy  bullets  of  spray  into  the  air,  which 
the  wind  caught  up  and  flung  down  broad  upon  the  boat. 
Sometimes  even  a  huge  wave  would  break  just  upon  their 
quarter,  and  then  great  torrents  of  bitter,  freezing  water 
would  fall  over  them  in  a  deluge,  leaving  a  sediment  of 
salt  that  cracked  the  skin.  The  women  were  huddled 
upon  the  bottom  of  the  boat  near  the  waist,  where  they 
had  been  placed  for  greater  safety.  They  were  fouled 
with  the  muddy  water  that  gathered  there,  their  long  hair 
dishevelled,  dripping  with  sleet,  clinging  to  their  wet 
cheeks  and  throats,  their  bodies  showing  pink  with  cold, 
through  their  thin,  soaked  coverings,  their  limbs  racked 
with  long  incessant  shudderings,  a  wretched  group,  miser 
able  beyond  words.  One  of  them  close  by  Vandover's  feet, 
he  noticed  particularly,  had  but  a  single  garment  to  cover 
her.  She  was  drenched  through  and  through,  her  bare 
feet  were  blue  with  the  cold,  her  head  was  thrown  back, 
her  eyes  closed.  She  was  silent  except  when  an  unusual 
gust  of  wind  whipped  the  rain  and  spray  across  her  body 
like  the  long,  fine  lash  of  a  whip.  Then  with  every  breath 
she  moaned,  drawing  in  her  breath  between  her  teeth 
with  a  little  whistling  gasp,  too  weak,  too  exhausted, 
too  nearly  unconscious  to  attempt  to  shield  herself  in 
any  way. 

Vandover  could  do  nothing;  he  had  almost  stripped 
himself  to  help  clothe  the  others.  Nothing  more  could  be 
done.  The  suffering  had  to  go  on,  and  he  began  to  wonder 
how  human  beings  could  endure  such  stress  and  yet  live. 

But  Vandover  himself  suffered  too  keenly  to  take  much 
thought  for  the  sufferings  of  the  others,  while  besides  that 
anguish  which  he  shared  with  the  whole  boat,  the  pain  in 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  143 

his  broken  thumb  gnawed  incessantly  like  a  rat.  From 
time  to  time  he  stared  listlessly  about  him,  looking  at  the 
dark  sky,  the  tumbling  ocean,  and  the  crowded  groups  in 
the  plunging,  rolling  lifeboat. 

There  was  nothing  picturesque  about  it  all,  nothing 
heroic.  It  was  unlike  any  pictures  he  had  seen  of  life 
boat  rescues,  unlike  anything  he  had  ever  imagined.  It 
was  all  sordid,  miserable,  and  the  sight  of  the  half-clad 
women,  dirty,  sodden,  unkempt,  stirred  him  rather  to 
disgust  than  to  pity. 

At  last  the  dawn  came  and  grew  white  over  a  world  of 
tumbling  green  billows  and  scudding  wrack.  Some  three 
miles  distant,  seen  only  when  the  boat  topped  a  higher 
wave,  the  same  procession  of  bleached  hills  moved  grad 
ually  to  the  south  under  the  fog,  their  feet  covered  by  the 
white  line  of  the  surf.  Not  far  behind  in  the  wake  of  the 
boat  the  stern  of  the  Mazatlan  rose  out  of  a  ring  of  white 
foam,  the  waves  breaking  over  her  as  if  she  had  been  there 
for  ages,  the  screw  writhing  its  flanges  into  the  air  like 
some  enormous  starfish  already  fastened  upon  the  hulk. 

One  of  the  other  boats  could  be  seen  now  and  then 
between  them  and  the  shore,  a  momentary  dot  of  black 
on  the  vast  blur  of  green  and  gray. 

There  was  no  conversation;  the  men  relieved  each  other 
at  the  oars  or  bailed  out  the  water  with  their  caps  and 
hands,  scarcely  interchanging  a  word.  The  only  utterance 
was  an  occasional  moaning  from  among  the  women  and 
children.  There  was  nothing  to  eat;  long  since  the  two 
whisky  flasks  had  been  exhausted.  The  rain  fell  steadily 
into  the  sea  with  a  prolonged  rippling  noise. 

Vandover  was  leaning  upon  the  gunwale  of  the  boat,  his 


144  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

head  buried  in  his  arms,  when  suddenly  he  raised  himself 
and  asked  of  the  man  who  sat  next  to  him: 

"What  was  the  matter  last  night?  What  caused  the 
accident?" 

The  other  shook  his  head,  wearily,  turning  away  again. 
However,  the  engineer  answered : 

"We  couldn't  carry  coal  enough  to  keep  up  the  right 
pressure  of  steam  and  drifted  in  upon  a  reef.  I  said  once 
before  that  it  would  happen  some  time." 

About  an  hour  later  Vandover  dropped  off  to  sleep,  in 
spite  of  the  cold,  the  wet,  and  the  torment  in  his  thumb. 
He  dozed  and  woke,  and  dozed  again  all  through  the  morn 
ing.  About  noon  he  was  awakened  by  a  more  violent 
rolling  of  the  boat,  the  sound  of  voices,  and  a  stir  among 
the  other  passengers. 

It  was  still  raining;  the  boat  was  no  longer  cutting  the 
waves  with  her  nose,  but  was  being  rowed  seaward  flank 
on ;  a  sailor  stood  in  the  bow  holding  a  coil  of  rope.  Close 
in  and  seen  over  the  tops  of  the  waves  were  the  shaking 
and  slatting  sails  of  a  pilot-boat,  lying  to.  One  of  the 
sails  bore  an  enormous  number  six. 

Vandover  slept  all  that  day  and  the  night  following, 
rolled  in  hot  blankets.  The  next  morning  he  awoke  with 
a  strange  sense  of  unreality  and  of  having  dropped  a  day 
somewhere.  As  he  lay  in  his  stuffy  little  bunk  between 
decks,  and  felt  the  rolling  of  the  pilot-boat  under  him,  he 
still  fancied  himself  upon  the  Mazatlan;  he  felt  the  pain 
in  his  bandaged  thumb  and  wondered  how  it  came  there. 
Then  his  fall  on  the  deck  came  back  to  him,  the  wreck 
of  the  steamer,  the  excitement  on  board,  the  reports  of 
the  rifle  fired  as  a  minute  gun,  the  clouds  of  steam  that 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  145 

smelt  of  a  great  laundry,  and  the  drowning  of  the  little 
Jew  of  the  plush  cap  with  the  ear-laps.  He  shuddered 
and  grew  sick  again  for  a  minute,  telling  himself  that  he 
would  never  forget  that  scene. 

Such  of  the  passengers  as  could  get  about  breakfasted 
as  best  they  could  in  the  cabin  with  the  boatkeeper  and 
four  of  the  pilots.  Here  they  were  informed  as  to  what 
was  to  be  done  with  them.  The  schooner  would  not  go 
in  for  two  weeks,  and  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  keep  the 
castaways  on  board  for  that  length  of  time.  However,  at 
that  moment  the  pilots  were  cruising  in  the  neighbourhood 
on  the  lookout  for  two  Cape  Homers  that  were  expected 
to  be  up  at  any  moment.  It  was  decided  that  when  the 
first  of  these  should  be  met  with  the  party  should  be  trans 
ferred. 

An  hour  after  they  had  been  picked  up,  the  wind  had 
begun  to  freshen.  By  noon  of  the  second  day  it  had  come 
on  to  blow  half  a  gale.  One  could  hope  only  for  the  best 
as  regarded  the  rest  of  the  Magadan's  boats  and  rafts. 
Not  another  sign  of  the  wreck  was  seen  by  the  schooner. 

The  castaways  filled  the  little  schooner  to  overflowing, 
hindering  her  management,  and  getting  in  the  way  at 
every  step.  The  pilot  crew  hustled  them  about  without 
ceremony,  and  after  dinner  one  had  to  intervene  to  pre 
vent  a  fight  between  one  of  them  and  a  sailor  from  the 
Mazatlan  over  the  question  of  a  broken  pipe.  The  women 
of  the  Mazatlan  kept  in  their  berths  continually,  rolled  in 
hot  blankets,  dosed  with  steaming  whisky  punches.  In 
the  afternoon,  however,  Vandover  saw  two  of  them  in  the 
lee  of  the  house  attempting  to  dry  their  hair;  one  of  them 
was  the  woman  he  had  particularly  noticed  in  the  life- 


146  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

boat  clad  in  a  night-dress,  and  he  wondered  vaguely 
where  the  dress  had  come  from  she  now  was  wearing. 

About  three  o'clock  of  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day 
Vandover  was  sitting  on  the  deck  near  the  stern,  fastening 
on  his  shoes  with  a  length  of  tarred  rope,  the  laces  which 
he  had  left  trailing  having  long  before  broken  and  pulled 
out.  By  that  time  the  wind  was  blowing  squally  out  of 
the  northeast.  The  schooner  was  put  under  try  sails, 
"a  three-reefed  mitten  with  the  thumb  brailed  up,"  as  he 
heard  the  boatkeeper  call  it.  This  latter  was  at  the 
wheel  for  a  moment,  but  in  a  little  while  he  called  up  a 
young  man  dressed  in  a  suit  of  oilskins  and  a  pea  jacket 
and  gave  him  the  charge.  For  a  long  time  Vandover 
watched  the  boy  turning  the  spokes  back  and  forth,  his 
eyes  alternating  between  the  binocle  and  the  horizon. 

In  the  evening  about  half -past  ten,  the  lookout  in  the 
crow's  nest  sang  out:  "Smoke  —  oh!"  sounding  upon 
his  fish  horn.  The  boatkeeper  ran  aft  and  lit  a  huge  cal 
cium  flare,  holding  it  so  as  to  illuminate  the  big  number 
on  the  mainsail.  Suddenly,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off 
their  weather-bow,  a  couple  of  rockets  left  a  long  trail  of 
yellow  against  the  night.  It  was  the  Cape  Homer,  and 
presently  Vandover  made  out  her  lights,  two  glowing 
spots  moving  upon  the  darkness,  like  the  eyes  of  some 
nocturnal  sea-monster.  In  a  few  minutes  she  showed  a 
blue  light  on  the  bridge;  she  wanted  a  pilot. 

The  schooner  approached  and  was  laid  to,  and  the  tower 
ing  mass  of  the  great  deep-sea  tramp  began  to  be  dimly 
seen  through  the  darkness.  There  was  little  confusion  in 
making  the  transfer  of  the  castaways.  Most  of  them 
seemed  still  benumbed  with  their  recent  terrible  exposure. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  147 

They  docilely  allowed  themselves  to  be  pushed  into  the 
pilot  tender  and  again  endured  the  experience  of  being 
lowered  to  the  shifting  waves  below.  Silently,  like  fright 
ened  sheep,  they  stood  up  in  turn  in  the  rocking  tender 
and  allowed  the  life  preserver  to  be  fitted  about  their 
shoulders  to  protect  them  from  the  bite  of  the  rope's 
noose  beneath  their  arms.  There  followed  a  sickening 
upward  whirl  between  sea  and  sky,  and  then  the  com 
forting  grasp  of  many  welcoming  hands  from  the  deck 
above.  By  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  transfer  had 
been  made. 

Vandover  boarded  the  Cape  Homer  in  company  with 
the  pilot  and  the  rest  and  reached  San  Francisco  late  on 
the  next  day,  which  happened  to  be  a  Sunday. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

ABOUT  ten  o'clock  Vandover  went  ashore  in  the  ship's 
yawl  and  landed  in  the  city  on  a  literally  perfect  day  in 
early  November.  It  seemed  many  years  since  he  had 
been  there.  The  drizzly  morning  upon  which  the  Santa 
Rosa  had  cast  off  was  already  too  long  ago  to  be  remem 
bered.  The  city  itself  as  he  walked  up  Market  Street 
toward  Kearney  seemed  to  have  taken  on  a  strange  ap 
pearance. 

It  was  Sunday,  the  downtown  streets  were  deserted 
except  for  the  cable-cars  and  an  occasional  newsboy. 
The  stores  were  closed  and  in  their  vestibules  one  saw  the 
peddlers  who  were  never  there  on  week-days,  venders  of 
canes  and  peddlers  of  glue  with  heavy  weights  attached 
to  mended  china  plates. 

Vandover  had  had  no  breakfast  and  was  conscious  of 
feeling  desperately  hungry.  He  determined  to  breakfast 
downtown,  as  he  would  arrive  home  too  late  for  one  meal 
and  too  early  for  the  other. 

Almost  all  of  his  money  had  been  lost  with  the  Mazatlan; 
he  found  he  had  but  a  dollar  left.  He  would  have  pre 
ferred  breakfasting  at  the  Grillroom,  but  concluded  he 
was  too  shabby  in  appearance,  and  he  knew,  he  would  get 
more  for  his  money  at  the  Imperial. 

It  was  absolutely  quiet  in  the  Imperial  at  the  hour  when 
he  arrived.  The  single  bartender  was  reading  a  paper,  and 

148 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  149 

in  the  passage  between  the  private  rooms  a  Chinese  with 
a  clean  napkin  wound  around  his  head  was  polishing 
the  brass  and  woodwork.  In  the  passage  he  met  Toby, 
the  red-eyed  waiter,  just  going  off  night  duty,  without  his 
usual  apron  or  white  coat,  dressed  very  carefully,  wear 
ing  a  brown  felt  hat. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Vandover  ?  "exclaimed  Toby. 
"Haven't  seen  you  round  here  for  some  time."  Vandover 
was  about  to  answer  when  the  other  interrupted: 

"  Well,  what's  happened  to  you  ?  Look  as  though  you'd 
been  drawn  through  hell  backward  and  beaten  with  a  cat ! " 

In  fact  Vandover 's  appearance  was  extraordinary.  His 
hat  was  torn  and  broken,  and  his  clothes,  stained  with 
tar  and  dirt,  shrunken  and  wrinkled  by  sea-water.  His 
shoes  were  fastened  with  bits  of  tarred  rope ;  he  was  wear 
ing  a  red  flannel  shirt  with  bone  buttons  which  the  boat- 
keeper  on  the  pilot  boat  had  given  him,  tied  at  the  neck 
with  a  purple  handkerchief  of  pongee  silk;  his  hair  was 
long,  r.nd  a  week's  growth  of  beard  was  upon  his  lip  and 
cheeks. 

"  That's  a  fact,  "  he  answered  grimly.  "  I  do  look 
queer.  I  was  in  a  wreck  down  the  coast,"  he  added  hastily. 

"The  MazaOanl"  exclaimed  Toby.  "That's  a  fact; 
the  papers  have  been  full  of  it.  That's  so,  you  were  one 
of  the  survivors." 

"The  survivors!"  echoed  Vandover  with  wondering 
curiosity.  "Tell  me  —  you  know  I  haven't  heard  a  word 
yet  —  were  there  many  lives  lost?  "  He  marvelled  at  the 
strangeness  of  the  situation,  that  this  bar  waiter  should 
know  more  of  the  wreck  than  he  himself  who  had  been 
upon  it. 


150  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

"You  bet  there  were!"  answered  Toby.  "Twenty- 
three  altogether;  one  boat  capsized;  Kelly,  'Bug'  Kelly, 
son  of  that  fellow  that  runs  the  Crystal  Grotto,  he  was 
drowned,  and  one  of  Hocheimer's  —  Hocheimer,  the 
jeweller,  you  know  —  one  of  his  travelling  salesmen  was 
drowned;  a  little  Jew  named  Brann,  a  diamond  expert; 
he  jumped  overboard  and " 

"Don't!"  said  Vandover  with  a  sharp  gesture.  "I  saw 
him  drown  —  it  was  sickening." 

"Were  you  in  that  boat?"  exclaimed  Toby.  "Well, 
wait  till  I  tell  you;  the  authorities  here  are  right  after  that 
first  engineer  with  a  sharp  stick,  and  some  of  the  passen 
gers,  too,  for  not  taking  him  in.  A  woman  in  one  of 
the  other  boats  saw  it  all  and  gave  the  whole  thing  away. 
A  thing  like  that  is  regular  murder,  you  know."  Van 
dover  shut  his  teeth  against  answering,  and  after  a  little 
Toby  went  on,  willing  to  talk.  "You  know,  we've  got  a 
new  man  for  the  day-work  down  here  now  —  George  isn't 
here  any  more.  No,  he's  going  to  start  a  roadhouse  out 
on  the  almshouse  drive  in  a  few  months;  swell  place,  you 
know.  I'll  have  him  send  you  cards  for  the  opening. " 

Vandover  ordered  oysters,  an  omelette,  and  a  pint  of 
claret  from  the  new  waiter  who  did  the  day-work,  and  ate 
and  drank  the  meal  —  the  like  of  which  he  had  not  tasted 
since  leaving  Coronado  —  with  delicious  enjoyment. 

He  delayed  over  it  long,  taking  a  great  pleasure  in  satis 
fying  the  demands  of  the  animal  in  him.  The  wine  made 
him  heavy,  warm,  stupid;  he  felt  calm,  soothed,  and  per 
fectly  contented,  and  had  to  struggle  against  a  desire  to 
go  to  sleep  where  he  was.  The  atmosphere  of  the  Im 
perial  was  warm  and  there  was  a  tepid  languor  in  the  air 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  151 

as  of  the  traces  of  many  past  debauches,  a  stale  odour  of 
sweetened  whisky  and  of  musk.  After  the  roughness  and 
hardships  of  the  last  week  he  felt  a  pleasant  sense  of  quiet, 
of  relaxation,  of  enervation.  He  even  began  to  wish  that 
Flossie  would  come  in.  This,  however,  made  him  rouse 
himself;  he  shook  himself,  and  started  home,  paying  his 
carfare  with  his  last  nickel. 

He  sat  on  the  outside  of  the  car,  wondering  if  any  one 
he  knew  would  see  him,  half  hoping  that  such  a  thing 
might  happen,  realizing  the  dramatic  interest  that  would 
centre  about  him  now  in  his  present  condition  as  a  survivor 
of  a  wreck.  The  idea  soon  attracted  him  immensely  and 
he  began  to  look  out  for  any  possible  acquaintance  as  the 
car  began  to  climb  over  Nob  Hill. 

At  the  crossing  of  Polk  Street  he  saw  Ida  Wade's  mother 
in  deep  mourning,  standing  near  a  grocery  store  holding 
a  little  pink  parcel. 

It  was  like  a  blow  between  the  eyes.  Vandover  caught 
his  breath  and  started  violently,  feeling  again  for  an  in 
stant  the  cold  grip  of  the  hysterical  terror  that  had  so 
nearly  overcome  him  on  the  morning  after  Ida's  death. 
It  slowly  relaxed,  however,  and  by  the  time  he  had  reached 
the  house  on  California  Street  he  was  almost  himself  again. 

It  was  about  church  time  when  Vandover  arrived  at 
home  once  more.  There  was  a  Sunday  quiet  in  the  air. 
The  bells  were  ringing,  and  here  and  there  family  groups 
on  their  way  to  church,  the  children  walking  in  front, 
very  sedate  in  their  best  clothes,  carrying  the  prayer- 
books  carefully,  by  special  privilege. 

The  butler  was  working  in  the  garden,  as  he  sometimes 
did  of  a  Sunday  morning,  pottering  about  a  certain  bed 


152  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

of  sweet-peas,  and  it  was  the  housekeeper  who  answered 
his  ring.  She  recognized  him  with  a  prolonged  exclama 
tion,  raising  her  hands  to  heaven. 

"O-oh,  and  is  it  you,  Mr.  Vandover,  sir?  Ah,  how 
we've  been  upset  about  you  and  all,  and  it's  glad  to  see 
you  back  again  your  father  will  be!  Oh,  such  times  as 
we  had  when  we  heard  about  the  wreck  and  knowing  you 
were  on  it !  Yes,  sir,  your  father's  pretty  well,  though  he 
was  main  poorly  yesterday  morning.  But  he's  better  now. 
You'll  find  him  in  the  smoking-room  now,  sir." 

Vandover  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  smoking-room 
quietly.  His  father  was  sitting  unoccupied  in  the  huge 
leather  chair  before  the  fireplace.  He  was  dead,  and  must 
have  died  some  considerable  time  before,  as  he  was  already 
cold.  He  could  have  suffered  no  pain,  hardly  a  muscle 
had  moved,  and  his  attitude  was  quite  natural,  the  legs 
crossed,  the  right  hand  holding  the  morning's  paper.  How 
ever,  as  soon  as  Vandover  touched  the  body  it  collapsed 
and  slid  down  into  a  heap  in  the  depth  of  the  chair,  the  jaw 
dropping  open,  the  head  rolling  sidewise  upon  his  shoulder. 

Vandover  ran  out  into  the  hall,  waving  his  arms, 
shouting  for  the  servants.  "  Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  me?  " 
he  cried  to  the  housekeeper  "Why  did  you  let  me  find 
him  so?  When  did  he  die?"  The  housekeeper  was  dis 
traught.  She  couldn't  believe  it.  Only  a  little  while  ago 
he  had  called  her  to  say  there  were  no  more  matches  in 
the  little  brass  matchsafe.  She  began  to  utter  long  cries 
and  lamentations  like  a  hen  in  distress,  raising  her  hands 
to  heaven.  All  at  once  they  heard  some  one  rushing  up 
the  stairs.  It  was  the  butler,  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and  his 
enormous  apron  of  ticking,  still  carrying  his  trowel  in  his 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  153 

hand.  He  was  bewildered,  his  eyes  protruding,  while  all 
about  him  he  spread  the  smell  of  fresh  earth.  At  every 
instant  he  exclaimed: 

"  What?     What?     What's  the  matter?  " 

"Oh,  my  dear  old  governor  —  and  all  alone!"  cried 
Vandover  through  shut  teeth. 

"Oh,  oh,  the  good  God!"  exclaimed  the  housekeeper, 
crossing  herself  and  rolling  her  eyes.  "And  him  asking 
for  matches  in  the  little  brass  box  only  a  minute  since. 
Oh,  the  good,  kind  master!" 

Suddenly  Vandover  rushed  down  the  stairs  and  through 
the  front  hall,  snatching  his  hat  from  the  hatrack  as  he 
passed.  He  ran  to  call  the  family  doctor,  who  lived  some 
two  blocks  below  on  the  same  street.  He  caught  him 
just  as  he  was  getting  into  the  carry-all  with  his  family, 
bound  for  church. 

Vandover  and  the  physician  rode  back  together  in  the 
carry-all,  the  two  gray  horses  going  up  the  steep  hill  at  a 
trot.  The  doctor  was  dressed  for  church;  he  wore  red 
gloves  with  thick  white  seams,  a  spray  of  lilies-of-the- 
valley  in  his  lapel. 

"I'm  afraid  we  can  do  nothing,"  he  said  warningly. 
"It's  your  father's  old  enemy,  I  suppose.  This  was  — 
it  was  sure  to  happen  sooner  or  later.  Any  sudden  shock, 
you  know." 

Vandover  scarcely  listened,  holding  the  door  of  the 
carry-all  open  with  one  hand,  ready  to  jump  out,  beating 
the  other  hand  upon  his  knee. 

"Go  back  and  take  the  rest  of  them  to  church  now," 
said  the  doctor  to  his  coachman  when  the  carry-all  stopped 
in  front  of  Vandover's  house. 


154  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

The  whole  house  was  in  the  greatest  agitation  all  the 
rest  of  the  day.  The  curtains  were  drawn,  the  door  bell 
rang  incessantly,  strange  faces  passed  the  windows,  and 
the  noise  of  strange  footsteps  continually  mounted  and 
descended  the  staircase.  The  hours  for  meals  were  all 
deranged,  the  table  stood  ready  all  day  long,  and  one  ate 
when  there  was  a  chance.  The  telephone  was  in  constant 
use,  and  at  every  moment  messenger  boys  came  and  went, 
people  spoke  in  low  tones,  walking  on  tiptoe;  the  florist's 
wagon  drove  to  the  door  again  and  again,  and  the  house 
began  to  smell  of  tuberoses.  Reporters  came,  waiting 
patiently  for  interviews,  sitting  on  the  leather  chairs  in 
the  dining-room,  or  writing  rapidly  on  a  corner  of  the 
dining-table,  the  cloth  pushed  back.  The  undertaker's 
assistants  went  about  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  working  very 
hard,  and  toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  under 
taker  himself  tied  the  crepe  to  the  bell  handle. 

Little  by  little  a  subdued  excitement  spread  throughout 
the  vicinity.  The  neighbours  appeared  at  their  windows, 
looking  down  into  the  street,  watching  everything  that 
went  on.  It  was  a  veritable  event,  a  matter  of  comment 
and  interest  for  the  whole  block.  Women  found  excuses 
to  call  on  each  other,  talking  over  what  had  happened,  as 
they  sat  near  their  parlour  windows,  shaking  their  heads 
at  each  other,  peering  out  between  the  lace  curtains.  The 
people  on  the  cable-cars  and  the  pedestrians  looked  again 
and  again  at  the  crepe  on  the  bell  handle,  and  the  cur 
tained  windows,  craning  their  necks  backward  when  they 
had  passed.  The  neighbours'  children  collected  in  little 
groups  on  the  sidewalk  near  the  house,  looking  and  point 
ing,  drawn  close  together,  talking  in  low  tones.  At  last 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  155 

even  a  policeman  appeared,  walking  deliberately,  casting 
the  shadow  of  his  huge  stomach  upon  the  fence  that  was 
about  the  vacant  lot.  He  frowned  upon  the  children, 
ordering  them  away.  But  suddenly  he  discovered  an 
acquaintance,  the  driver  of  an  express- wagon  that  had  just 
driven  up  with  an  enormous  anchor  of  violets.  He  paused, 
exclaiming : 

"Why,  hello,  Connors!" 

"  Why,  hello,  Mister  Brodhead ! " 

Then  a  long  conversation  was  begun,  the  policeman 
standing  on  the  curbstone,  one  foot  resting  upon  the  hub 
of  a  wheel,  the  expressman  leaning  forward,  his  elbows  on 
his  knees,  twirling  his  whip  between  his  hands.  The  ex 
pressman  told  some  sort  of  story,  pointing  with  his  elbow 
toward  the  house,  but  the  other  was  incredulous,  gravely 
shaking  his  head,  putting  his  chin  in  the  air,  and  closing 
his  eyes. 

Inside  the  house  itself  there  was  a  hushed  and  sub 
dued  bustling  that  centred  about  a  particular  room.  The 
undertaker's  assistants  and  the  barber  called  in  low  voices 
through  the  halls  for  basins  of  water  and  towels.  There 
was  a  search  for  the  Old  Gentleman's  best  clothes  and  his 
clean  linen;  bureau  drawers  were  opened  and  shut,  closet 
doors  softly  closed.  Relatives  and  friends  called  and 
departed  or  stayed  to  help.  A  vague  murmur  arose,  a 
mingled  sound  of  whispers  and  light  footsteps,  the  rustle 
of  silks,  and  the  noise  of  stifled  weeping,  and  then  at  last 
silence,  night,  solitude,  a  single  gas-jet  burning,  and  Van- 
do  ver  was  left  alone. 

^The  suddenness  of  the  thing  had  stunned  and  dizzied 
him,  and  he  had  gone  through  with  all  the  various  affairs 


156  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

of  the  day  wondering  at  his  calmness  and  fortitude. 
Toward  eleven  o'clock,  however,  after  the  suppressed 
excitement  of  the  last  hours,  as  he  was  going  to  bed,  the 
sense  of  his  grief  and  loss  came  upon  him  all  of  a  sudden, 
with  their  real  force  for  the  first  time,  and  he  threw  him 
self  upon  the  bed  face  downward,  weeping  and  groaning. 
During  the  rest  of  the  night  pictures  of  his  father  returned 
to  him  as  he  had  seen  him  upon  different  occasions,  par 
ticularly  three  such  pictures  came  and  went  through  his 
mind. 

In  one  the  Old  Gentleman  stood  in  that  very  room, 
with  the  decanter  in  his  hand,  asking  him  kindly  if  he  felt 
very  bad;  in  another  he  was  on  the  pier  with  his  hand 
kerchief  tied  to  his  cane,  waving  it  after  Vandover  as 
though  spelling  out  a  signal  to  him  across  the  water.  But 
in  a  third,  he  was  in  the  smoking-room,  fallen  into  the 
leather  chair,  his  arm  resting  on  the  table  and  his  head 
bowed  upon  it. 

After  the  funeral,  which  took  place  from  the  house, 
Vandover  drove  back  alone  in  the  hired  carriage  to  his 
home.  He  would  have  paid  the  driver,  but  the  other 
told  him  that  the  undertaker  looked  out  for  that.  Van 
dover  watched  him  a  moment  as  he  started  his  horses 
downhill,  the  brake  as  it  scraped  against  the  tire  making 
a  noise  like  the  yelping  of  a  dog.  Then  he  turned  and 
faced  the  house.  It  was  near  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon,  and  everything  about  the  house  was  very  quiet. 
All  the  curtains  were  down  except  in  one  of  the  rooms  up 
stairs.  The  butler  had  already  opened  these  windows 
and  was  airing  the  room.  Vandover  could  hear  him  mov 
ing  about,  sweeping  up,  rearranging  the  furniture,  making 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  157 

up  the  bed  again.  In  front  of  him,  between  the  horse 
block  and  the  front  door,  one  or  two  smilax  leaves  were 
still  fallen,  and  a  tuberose,  already  yellow.  Behind  him 
in  the  street  he  had  already  noticed  the  marks  of  the 
wheels  of  the  hearse  where  it  had  backed  up  to  the  curb. 

The  crepe  was  still  on  the  bell  handle.  Vandover  did 
not  know  whether  it  had  been  forgotten,  or  whether  it  was 
proper  to  leave  it  there  longer.  At  any  rate  he  took  it  off 
and  carried  it  into  the  house  with  him. 

His  father's  hat,  a  stiff  brown  derby  hat,  flat  on  the  top, 
hung  on  the  hatrack.  This  had  always  been  a  sign  to 
Vandover  that  his  father  was  at  home.  The  sight  was  so 
familiar,  so  natural,  that  the  same  idea  occurred  to  him 
now  involuntarily,  and  for  an  instant  it  was  as  though  he 
had  dreamed  of  his  father's  death;  he  even  wondered  what 
was  this  terrible  grief  that  had  overwhelmed  him,  and 
thought  that  he  must  go  and  tell  his  father  about  it.  He 
took  the  hat  in  his  hands,  turning  it  about  tenderly, 
catching  the  faint  odour  of  the  Old  Gentleman's  hair  oil 
that  hung  about  it.  It  all  brought  back  his  father  to  him 
as  no  picture  ever  could;  he  could  almost  see  the  kind  old 
face  underneath  the  broad  curl  of  the  brim.  His  grief 
came  over  him  again  keener  than  ever  and  he  put  his 
arms  clumsily  about  the  old  hat,  weeping  and  whispering 
to  himself : 

"  Oh,  my  poor,  dear  old  dad  —  I'm  never  going  to  see 
you  again,  never,  never !  Oh,  my  dear,  kind  old  governor !" 

He  took  the  hat  up  to  his  room  with  him,  putting  it 
carefully  away.  Then  he  sat  down  before  the  window 
that  overlooked  the  little  garden  in  the  rear  of  the  house, 
looking  out  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing. 


CHAPTER-  ELEVEN 

THE  following  days  as  they  began  to  pass  were  miserable. 
Vandover  had  never  known  until  now  how  much  he  loved 
Ms  father,  how  large  a  place  he  had  filled  in  his  life.  He 
felt  horribly  alone  now,  and  a  veritable  feminine  weakness 
overcame  him,  a  crying  need  to  be  loved  as  his  father  had 
loved  him,  and  also  to  love  some  one  as  he  himself  had 
loved  his  father.  Worst  of  all,  however,  was  his  loneliness. 
He  could  think  of  no  one  who  cared  in  the  least  for  him; 
the  very  thought  of  Turner  Ravis  or  young  Haight  wrought 
in  him  an  expression  of  scorn.  He  was  sure  that  he  was 
nothing  to  them,  though  they  were  the  ones  whom  he 
considered  his  best  friends. 

Another  cause  of  misery  was  the  fact  that  his  father's 
death  in  leaving  him  alone  had  also  thrown  him  upon  his 
own  resources.  Now  he  would  have  to  shoulder  respon 
sibilities  which  hitherto  his  father  had  assumed,  and  de 
cide  questions  which  until  now  his  father  had  answered. 

However,  he  felt  that  his  father's  death  had  sobered 
him  as  nothing  else,  not  even  Ida's  suicide,  had  done. 
The  time  was  come  at  length  for  him  to  take  life  seriously. 
He  would  settle  down  now  to  work  at  his  art.  He  would 
go  to  Paris  as  his  father  had  wished,  and  devote  himself 
earnestly  to  painting.  Yes,  the  time  was  come  for  him 
to  steady  himself,  and  give  over  the  vicious  life  into  which 
he  had  been  drifting. 

158 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  159 

But  it  was  not  long  before  Vandover  had  become  accus 
tomed  to  his  father's  death,  and  had  again  rearranged  him 
self  to  suit  the  new  environment  which  it  had  occasioned. 
He  wondered  at  himself  because  of  the  quickness  with 
which  he  had  recovered  from  this  grief,  just  as  before  he 
had  marvelled  at  the  ease  with  which  he  had  forgotten 
Ida's  death.  Could  it  be  true,  then,  that  nothing  affected 
him  very  deeply  ?  Was  his  nature  shallow  ? 

However,  he  was  wrong  in  this  respect;  his  nature  was 
not  shallow.  It  had  merely  become  deteriorated. 

Two  days  after  his  father's  death  Vandover  went  into 
the  Old  Gentleman's  room  to  get  a  certain  high-backed 
chair  which  had  been  moved  there  from  his  own  room  dur 
ing  the  confusion  of  the  funeral,  and  which,  pending  the 
arrival  of  the  trestles,  had  been  used  to  support  the  coffin. 

As  he  was  carrying  it  back  his  eye  fell  upon  a  little  heap 
of  objects  carefully  set  down  upon  the  bureau.  They  were 
the  contents  of  the  Old  Gentleman's  pockets  that  the 
undertaker  had  removed  when  the  body  was  dressed  for 
burial. 

Vandover  turned  them  over,  sadly  interested  in  them. 
There  was  the  watch,  some  old  business  letters  and  en 
velopes  covered  with  memoranda,  his  fountain-pen,  a 
couple  of  cigars,  a  bank-book,  a  small  amount  of  change, 
his  pen-knife;  and  one  or  two  tablets  of  chewing-gum. 

Vandover  thrust  the  pen  and  the  knife  into  his  own 
pocket.  The  bank-book,  letters,  and  change  he  laid 
away  in  his  father's  desk,  but  the  cigars  and  the  tablets 
of  gum,  together  with  the  crumpled  pocket-handkerchief 
that  he  found  on  another  part  of  the  dressing-case,  he  put 
into  the  Old  Gentleman's  hat,  which  he  had  hidden  on  the 


160  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

top  shelf  of  his  clothes  closet.  The  watch  he  hung  upon  a 
little  brass  thermometer  that  always  stood  on  his  centre 
table.  He  even  wound  up  the  watch  with  the  resolve 
never  to  let  it  run  down  so  long  as  he  should  live. 

The  keys,  however,  disturbed  him,  and  he  kept  changing 
them  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  looking  at  them  very 
thoughtfully.  They  suggested  to  him  the  inquiry  as  to 
whether  or  no  his  father  had  made  a  will,  and  how  much 
money  he,  Vandover,  could  now  command.  One  of  the 
keys  was  a  long  brass  key.  Vandover  knew  that  this 
unlocked  a  little  iron  box  that  from  time  out  of  mind  had 
been  screwed  upon  the  lower  shelf  of  the  clothes  closet  in 
his  father's  room.  It  was  in  this  box  that  the  Old  Gentle 
man  kept  his  ready  money  and  a  few  important  papers. 

For  a  long  time  Vandover  stood  undecided,  changing 
the  keys  about  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  hesitating  be 
fore  opening  this  iron  box;  he  could  not  tell  why.  By  and 
by,  however,  he  went  softly  into  his  father's  room,  and 
into  the  clothes  closet  near  the  head  of  the  bed.  Holding 
the  key  toward  the  lock,  he  paused  listening;  it  was  im 
possible  to  rid  his  mind  of  the  idea  that  he  was  doing 
something  criminal.  He  shook  himself,  smiling  at  the 
fancy,  assuring  himself  of  the  honesty  of  the  thing,  yet 
opening  the  box  stealthily,  holding  the  key  firmly  in  order 
that  it  might  not  spring  back  with  a  loud  click,  looking 
over  his  shoulder  the  while  and  breathing  short  through 
his  nose. 

The  first  thing  that  he  saw  inside  was  a  loaded  revolver, 
the  sudden  view  of  which  sent  a  little  qualm  through  the 
pit  of  his  stomach.  He  took  it  out  gingerly,  holding  it 
at  arm's  length,  throwing  open  the  cylinder  and  spilling 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  161 

out  the  cartridges  on  the  bed,  very  careful  to  let  none  of 
them  fall  on  the  floor  lest  they  should  explode. 

Next  he  drew  out  the  familiar  little  canvas  sack.  In  it 
were  twenty-dollar  gold-pieces,  the  coin  that  used  to  be 
"Good  for  the  Masses."  Behind  that  was  about  thirty 
dollars  in  two  rolls,  and  last  of  all  in  an  old,  oblong  tin 
cracker-box  a  great  bundle  of  papers.  A  list  of  these  papers 
was  pasted  on  one  end  of  the  box.  They  comprised 
deeds,  titles,  insurance  policies,  tax  receipts,  mortgages, 
and  all  the  papers  relating  to  the  property.  Besides  these 
there  was  the  will. 

He  took  out  this  box,  laying  it  on  the  shelf  beside  him. 
He  was  closing  the  small  iron  safe  again  very  quietly  when 
all  at  once,  before  he  could  think  of  what  he  was  doing,  he 
ran  his  hand  into  the  mouth  of  the  canvas  sack,  furtively, 
slyly,  snatched  one  of  the  heavy  round  coins,  and  thrust 
it  into  his  vest  pocket,  looking  all  about  him,  listening 
intently,  saying  to  himself  with  a  nervous  laugh,  "Well, 
isn't  it  mine  anyway?  " 

In  spite  of  himself  he  could  not  help  feeling  a  joy  in  the 
possession  of  this  money  as  if  of  some  treasure-trove  dug 
up  on  an  abandoned  shore.  He  even  began  to  plan 
vaguely  how  he  should  spend  it. 

However,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  open  any  of  the 
papers,  but  sent  them  instead  to  a  lawyer,  whom  he  knew 
his  father  had  often  consulted.  A  few  days  later  he  re 
ceived  a  typewritten  letter  asking  him  to  call  at  his  earliest 
convenience. 

It  was  at  his  residence  and  not  at  his  office  that  Van- 
dover  saw  the  lawyer,  as  the  latter  was  not  well  at  the 
time  and  kept  to  his  bed.  However,  he  was  not  so  sick 


162  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

but  that  his  doctor  allowed  him  to  transact  at  least  some 
of  his  business.  Vandover  found  him  in  his  room,  a  huge 
apartment,  one  side  entirely  taken  up  by  book-shelves 
filled  with  works  of  fiction.  The  walls  were  covered  with 
rough  stone-blue  paper,  forming  an  admirable  background 
to  small  plaster  casts  of  Assyrian  bas-reliefs  and  large 
photogravures  of  Renaissance  portraits.  Underneath 
an  enormous  baize-covered  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
were  green  cloth  bags  filled  apparently  with  books,  pad 
locked  tin  chests,  and  green  pasteboard  deed-boxes.  The 
lawyer  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  wearing  his  dressing-gown 
and  occasionally  drinking  hot  water  from  a  glass.  He  was 
a  thin,  small  man,  middle-aged,  with  a  very  round  head 
and  a  small  pointed  beard. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Vandover?"  he  said,  very  pleas 
antly  as  Vandover  passed  by  the  servant  holding  open 
the  door  and  came  in. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Field?"  answered  Vandover, 
shaking  his  hand.  "Well,  I'm  sorry  to  see  you  like  this." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  lawyer,  "I'm  —  I  have  trouble 
with  my  digestion  sometimes,  more  annoying  than  dan 
gerous,  I  suppose.  Take  a  chair,  won't  you?  You  can 
find  a  place  for  your  hat  and  coat  right  on  the  table  there. 
Well,"  he  added,  settling  back  on  the  pillows  and  looking 
at  Vandover  pleasantly,  "I  think  you've  grown  thinner 
since  the  last  time  I  saw  you,  haven't  you?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Vandover  grimly,  "  I  guess  I  have." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  suppose  so,  of  course,"  responded  the 
lawyer  with  a  vague  air  of  apology  and  sympathy.  "You 
have  had  a  trying  time  of  it  lately,  taking  it  by  and  large. 
I  was  very  painfully  shocked  to  hear  of  your  father's  death. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  163 

I  had  met  him  at  lunch  hardly  a  week  before;  he  was  a 
far  heartier  man  than  I  was.  Eat?  You  should  have 
seen  —  splendid  appetite.  He  spoke  at  length  of  you,  I  re 
member;  told  me  you  expected  to  go  abroad  soon  to  study 
painting;  in  fact,  I  believe  he  was  to  go  to  Paris  with  you. 
It  was  very  sad  and  very  sudden.  But  you  know  we've 
all  been  expecting  —  been  fearing  —  that  for  some  time." 

They  both  were  silent  for  a  moment,  the  lawyer  looking 
absently  at  the  foot-board  of  the  bed,  nodding  his  head 
slowly  from  time  to  time,  repeating,  "Yes,  sir  —  yes,  sir." 
Suddenly  he  exclaimed,  "Well  — now,  let's  see."  He 
cleared  his  throat,  coming  back  to  himself  again,  and 
continued  in  a  very  businesslike  and  systematic  tone: 

"  I  have  looked  over  your  father's  papers,  Mr.  Vandover, 
as  you  requested  me  to,  and  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of 
sending  for  you  to  let  you  know  exactly  how  you  stand." 

"That's  the  idea,  sir,"  said  Vandover,  very  attentive, 
drawing  up  his  chair. 

Mr.  Field  took  a  great  package  of  oblong  papers  from 
the  small  table  that  stood  at  the  head  of  his  bed,  and 
looked  them  over,  adjusting  his  eyeglasses.  "Well,  now, 
suppose  we  take  up  the  real  property  first,"  he  continued, 
drawing  out  three  or  four  of  these  papers  and  unfolding 
them.  "All  of  your  father's  money  was  invested  in  what 
we  call  'improved  realty. ' ' 

He  talked  for  something  over  an  hour,  occasionally 
stopping  to  answer  a  question  of  Vandover 's,  or  interrupt 
ing  himself  to  ask  him  if  he  understood.  At  the  end  it 
amounted  to  this : 

The  bulk  of  the  estate  was  residence  property  in  dis 
tant  quarters  of  the  city.  Some  twenty-six  houses,  very 


164  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

cheaply  built,  each,  on  an  average,  renting  for  twenty- 
eight  dollars.  When  all  of  these  were  rented,  the  gross 
monthly  income  was  seven  hundred  and  twenty-eight 
dollars.  At  this  time,  however,  six  were  vacant,  bringing 
down  the  gross  receipts  per  month  to  five  hundred  and 
sixty  dollars.  The  expenses,  which  included  water,  com 
missions  for  collecting,  repairs,  taxes,  interest  on  insurance, 
etc.,  when  expressed  in  the  terms  of  a  monthly  average, 
amounted  to  one  hundred  and  eighty-six  dollars. 

"Well,  now,  let's  see,"  said  Vandover,  figuring  on  his 
cuff,  "one  hundred  and  eighty-six  from  five  hundred  and 
sixty  leaves  me  a  net  monthly  income  of  three  hundred 
and  eighty-four  —  no,  seventy-four.  Three  hundred  and 
seventy-four  dollars." 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head  while  he  drank  another  glass 
of  hot  water : 

"You  see,"  he  said,  wiping  his  moustache  in  the  hollow 
of  his  palm,  "you  see,  we  haven't  figured  on  the  mortgages 
yet." 

"  Mortgages?  "  echoed  Vandover. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Field,  "when  I  spoke  of  expenses 
I  was  basing  them  upon  the  monthly  statements  of  Adams 
&  Brunt,  your  father's  agents.  But  they  never  looked 
after  the  mortgages.  Your  father  acted  directly  with  the 
banks  in  that  matter.  I  find  that  there  are  mortgages 
that  cover  the  entire  property,  even  the  homestead. 
They  are  for  6|  and  7  per  cent.  In  some  cases  there  are 
two  mortgages  on  the  same  piece  of  property." 

"  Well,"  said  Vandover. 

"Well,"  answered  the  lawyer,  "the  interest  on  these 
foots  up  to  about  two  hundred  and  ninety  dollars  a  month." 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  165 

Vandover  made  another  hasty  calculation  on  his  cuff, 
and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  staring  at  the  lawyer,  saying : 

"Why,  that  leaves  eighty-four  dollars  a  month,  net." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Field.     "  I  made  it  that,  too." 

"Why,  the  governor  used  to  allow  me  fifty  a  month," 
returned  Vandover,  "just  for  pocket  money." 

"I'm  afraid  you  mustn't  expect  anything  like  that,  now, 
Mr.  Vandover,"  replied  Field,  smiling.  "You  see,  when 
your  father  was  alive  and  pursuing  his  profession,  he  made 
a  comfortable  income  besides  that  which  he  derived  from 
his  realty.  His  law  business  I  consider  to  have  been 
excellent  when  you  take  everything  into  consideration. 
He  often  made  five  hundred  dollars  a  month  at  it.  Such 
are  the  figures  his  papers  show.  He  could  make  you  a 
handsome  allowance  while  he  was  alive,  but  all  that  is 
stopped  now!" 

"Well,  but  didn't  he  —  didn't  he  leave  any  money, 
any  —  any  —  any  lump  sum?"  inquired  Vandover  in 
credulously. 

"There  was  his  bank  account,"  answered  the  other. 
"You  see,  he  invested  most  of  his  savings  in  this  same 
realty,  and  since  he  stopped  building  he  seems  to  have 
lived  right  up  to  his  income." 

"But  eighty-four  dollars!"  repeated  Vandover;  "why, 
look  at  the  house  on  California  Street  where  we  live.  It 
costs  that  much  to  run  it,  the  servants  and  all." 

"Here's  your  father's  domestic-account  book,"  an 
swered  Field,  taking  it  up  and  turning  the  leaves.  "One 
hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars  a  month  were  the  average 
running  expenses." 

"One  hundred   and   seventy-five!"   shouted   Vandover, 


166  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

feeling  suddenly  as  if  the  ground  were  opening  under  him. 
"Why,  great  heavens!  Mr.  Field,  where  am  I  going  to  get 
—  what  am  I  going  to  do? "  * 

Mr.  Field  smiled  a  little.  "Well,"  he  said,  "you  must 
make  up  your  mind  to  live  more  modestly." 

"Modestly?"  exclaimed  Vandover,  scornfully. 

"  You'll  have  to  rent  the  house  and  take  rooms." 

Vandover  gave  a  gasp  of  relief. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  he  answered,  subsiding  at 
once.  " How  much  would  it  bring  —  the  house?  " 

The  lawyer  hesitated  as  to  this.  "  That  I  could  hardly  tell 
you  definitely,"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head.  "Adams 
&  Brunt  could  give  you  more  exact  figures.  In  fact, 
I  would  suggest  that  you  put  it  into  their  hands.  Cali 
fornia  near  Franklin,  isn't  it?  Yes;  the  neighbourhood 
isn't  what  it  used  to  be,  you  know.  Every  one  wants  to 
live  out  on  Pacific  Heights  now.  Double  house?  Yes, 
well  —  with  the  furniture,  I  suppose  —  oh,  I  don't  know 
—  say,  a  hundred  and  fifty.  But,  you  know,  my  estimate 
is  only  guesswork.  Brunt  is  the  man  you  want  to  see." 

"Well,"  answered  Vandover,  solaced,  "that  makes  — 
two  thirty-four;  that's  more  like  it.  But,"  he  added, 
hastily,  "y°u  say  the  homestead  is  mortgaged  as  well; 
how  about  the  interest  on  that?  " 

"You  needn't  be  bothered  about  that,"  answered  Mr. 
Field.  "  The  interest  on  that  mortgage  is  included  in  the 
two  hundred  and  ninety  that  I  spoke  of,  and  the  insurance 
interest  on  the  homestead  is  included  in  Adams  & 
Brunt's  statement.  That  was  on  the  whole  estate  with 
the  homestead,  you  understand?  But  there  is  another 
thing  you  must  look  out  for.  Most  of  the  mortgages  are 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  167 

for  one  year,  and  every  time  they  are  renewed  there  is  an 
expense  of  between  forty  and  fifty  dollars." 

"Yes,  I  see,"  assented  Vandover. 

"Now,"  resumed  the  lawyer,  "here  is  your  father's 
bank  account.  He  had  in  the  First  National  to  his  credit 
between  nine  and  ten  thousand  dollars;  nine  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  ninety,  to  be  exact.  His  professional 
account  book  shows  that  there  is  now  due  him  in  bills  and 
notes  eight  hundred  and  thirty  dollars;  on  the  debit  side 
he  owes  in  all  nine  hundred;  the  difference,  you  see,  is 
seventy.  Nine  thousand  seven  hundred  and  ninety  less 
seventy  leaves  a  balance  of  nine  thousand  six  hundred  and 
twenty.  All  clear?  "  he  asked,  interrupting  himself.  Van 
dover  nodded  and  the  other  continued : 

"Now,  your  father  left  a  will;  here  it  is.  I  drew  it  for 
him  a  year  ago  last  September.  He  has  given  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  to  some  cousin  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
state,  and  six  hundred  to  a  few  charities  here  in  the  city. 
The  remainder,  seven  thousand  five  hundred  and  twenty, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  estate  is  left  to  you  with  the  wish 
that  you  pursue  your  art  studies  abroad.  Brunt,  of 
Adams  &  Brunt,  and  myself  are  appointed  executors. 
So  now,  that  is  just  how  you  stand  as  far  as  I  can  see: 
seventy-five  hundred  dollars  in  ready  money  and,  if  we 
suppose  you  rent  the  California  Street  house,  income  prop 
erty  that  nets  you  two  hundred  and  thirty-four  a  month. 
The  will  will  have  to  be  probated  some  time  next  month 
and  you  will  have  to  appear;  however,  I  shall  let  you  know 
about  that  in  time." 

During  the  next  two  weeks  Vandover  was  plunged  into 
the  affairs  of  business  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  It  in- 


168  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

terested  and  amused  him,  and  he  felt  a  certain  self-impor 
tance  in  handling  large  sums  of  money,  and  in  figuring 
interest,  rents,  and  percentages.  Three  days  after  his 
interview  with  Mr.  Field  the  sale  of  his  father's  office 
effects  took  place,  and  the  consequent  five  hundred  dollars 
Vandover  turned  over  into  the  hands  of  the  lawyer,  who 
was  already  looking  for  an  investment  for  the  eighty-nine 
hundred.  This  matter  had  given  Vandover  considerable 
anxiety. 

" I  don't  want  anything  fancy,"  he  said  to  Field.  "No 
big  per  cents,  and  bigger  risks.  If  I've  got  to  live  economi 
cally  I  want  something  that's  secure.  A  good  solid  in 
vestment,  don't  you  know,  with  a  fair  interest;  that's 
what  I'm  looking  for." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  lawyer  grimly;  "I've  been  looking 
for  that  myself  ever  since  I  was  your  age." 

They  both  laughed,  and  the  lawyer  added :  "  Has  Brunt 
found  a  tenant  for  the  California  Street  house  yet?  No? 
Well,  perhaps  you  had  better  keep  that  five  hundred  for 
your  running  expenses  until  he  does.  It  will  probably 
take  some  time." 

"  All  right,"  answered  Vandover.  " There  were  a  couple 
of  women  up  to  look  at  the  place  yesterday,  but  they 
wanted  to  use  it  for  a  boarding-house.  I  won't  hear  to 
that.  Brunt  says  they  would  ruin  it,  dead  sure." 

"I  suppose  you  are  looking  around,  yourself ,  for  rooms?" 
inquired  Mr.  Field.  "Have  you  found  anything  to  suit 
you?" 

"No,"  answered  Vandover,  "I  have  not.  I  don't  like 
the  idea  of  living  in  one  of  the  downtown  hotels,  and  as 
far  as  I  have  looked,  the  uptown  flats  are  rather  steep. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  169 

However,  I  haven't  gone  around  very  much  as  yet.  I've 
been  so  busy.  Oh,  how  about  the  paving  of  the  street  in 
front  of  those  Bush  Street  houses  of  mine?  Brunt  says 
that  the  supervisors  have  passed  a  resolution  of  intention 
to  that  effect.  Now  shall  I  let  the  city  contractor  have 
the  job  or  give  it  to  Brunt's  man?  " 

"Better  let  the  city  people  do  it,"  advised  Field. 
"They  may  charge  more,  but  you  needn't  pay  them  for  a 
longtime." 

By  the  end  of  three  weeks  Vandover  had  sickened  of  the 
whole  thing.  The  novelty  was  gone,  and  business  affairs 
no  longer  amused  him.  Besides  this,  he  was  anxious  to 
settle  down  in  some  comfortable  rooms.  It  was  now  the 
middle  of  winter  and  he  had  determined  that  it  was  not 
the  season  for  a  European  trip.  He  would  wait  until  the 
summer  before  going  to  Paris. 

Little  by  little  Vandover  turned  over  the  supervision 
and  management  of  his  affairs  and  his  property  to  Adams 
&  Brunt,  declaring  that  he  could  not  afford  to  be  bothered 
with  them  any  longer.  This  course  was  much  more  ex 
pensive  and  by  no  means  so  satisfactory  from  a  business 
point  of  view,  but  Vandover  felt  as  though  the  loss  in 
money  was  more  than  offset  by  his  freedom  from  annoy 
ance  and  responsibility. 

He  was  eager  to  get  settled.  The  idea  of  taking  rooms 
that  should  be  all  his  own  and  that  he  could  fit  up  to  suit 
his  taste  attracted  him  immensely.  Already  he  saw  him 
self  installed  in  charming  bachelor's  apartments,  the 
walls  covered  with  rough  stone-blue  paper  forming  an 
admirable  background  for  small  plaster  casts  of  Assyrian 
bas-reliefs  and  photogravures  of  Velasquez  portraits. 


170  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

There  would  be  a  pipe-rack  over  the  mantelpiece,  and  a 
window-seat  with  a  corduroy  cushion  such  as  he  had  had 
in  his  room  in  Matthew's. 

Very  slowly  his  father's  affairs  were  settled,  and  by 
degrees  the  estate  began  to  adjust  itself  to  the  new  grooves 
in  which  it  was  to  run.  By  the  middle  of  December 
everything  was  beginning  to  go  smoothly,  and  the  day 
before  Christmas  Mr.  Field  announced  to  Vandover  that 
he  had  invested  his  eighty-nine  hundred  in  registered  U.  S. 
4  per  cents.  They  had  had  several  long  talks  concerning 
this  sum  of  money,  and  in  the  end  had  concluded  that  it 
would  be  better  to  invest  it  in  some  such  fashion  rather 
than  to  take  up  any  of  the  mortgages  that  were  on  the 
houses. 

During  the  first  weeks  of  the  new  year  the  house  on 
California  Street  was  rented  for  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  dollars  to  an  English  gentleman,  the  president  of  a 
fruit  syndicate  in  the  southern  part  of  the  state.  There 
were  but  three  in  the  family,  and  though  the  rent  was 
below  that  which  Vandover  had  desired,  Brunt  advised 
him  to  close  the  transaction  at  once,  as  they  were  desirable 
tenants  and  would  probably  stay  in  the  house  a  long  time. 

On  the  last  evening  which  he  was  to  spend  in  his  home, 
Vandover  cast  up  his  accounts  and  made  out  a  schedule 
as  to  his  monthly  income. 

Rent  from  realty,  net  average $  84.00 

Rent  from  homestead  property  on  California  Street  ...  125.00 
Interest  on  U.  S.  bonds,  4  per  cent 23.00 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  171 

Received  from  sale  of  office  effects $500.00 


$670.00 
Expenses,  outstanding  bills,  lawyer's  fees,  undertaker's  bill, 

expenses  for  collecting,  etc 587.00 


Balance,  January  16th $83.00 

Then  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  he  dismissed  the 
whole  burdensome  business  from  his  mind.  Brunt  would 
manage  his  property,  sending  him  regularly  the  monthly 
statement  in  order  to  keep  him  informed.  The  English 
gentleman  of  the  fruit  syndicate  would  add  his  hundred 
and  twenty-five,  and  the  4  per  cents.,  faithfully  brooding 
over  his  eighty-nine  hundred  in  the  dark  of  the  safety  de 
posit  drawer,  would  bring  forth  their  little  quota  of  twenty- 
three  with  absolute  certainty.  Two  thirty-two  a  month. 
Yes,  he  was  comfortably  fixed  and  was  free  now  to  do 
exactly  as  he  pleased. 

His  first  object  now  was  to  settle  down  for  the  winter  in 
some  pleasant  rooms.  He  had  decided  that  he  would 
look  for  a  suite  of  three  —  a  bedroom,  studio,  and  sitting- 
room.  The  bedroom  he  was  not  particular  about,  the 
studio  he  hoped  would  have  plenty  of  light  from  the  north, 
but  the  sitting-room  must  be  sunny  and  overlook  the 
street,  else  what  would  be  the  use  of  a  window-seat?  As 
to  the  neighbourhood,  he  thought  he  would  prefer  Sutter 
Street  anywhere  between  Leavenworth  and  Powell. 

In  the  downtown  part  this  street  was  entirely  given 
over  to  business  houses;  in  the  far,  uptown  quarter  it  was 
lined  with  residences;  but  between  these  two  undesirable 
extremes  was  an  intermediate  district  where  the  residences 
had  given  place  to  flats,  and  the  business  blocks  to  occa- 


172  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

sional  stores.  It  was  a  neighbourhood  affected  by  doctors, 
dentists,  and  reputable  music-teachers;  drug  stores  occu 
pied  many  of  the  corners,  here  and  there  a  fine  residence 
still  withstood  the  advance  of  business,  there  were  a 
number  of  great  apartment  houses,  and  even  one  or  two 
club  buildings. 

It  was  a  gay  locality,  not  too  noisy,  not  too  quiet. 
The  street  was  one  of  the  great  arteries  of  travel  between 
the  business  and  the  residence  portions  of  the  city,  and 
its  cable-cars  were  frequented  by  ladies  going  to  their 
shopping  or  downtown  marketing  or  to  and  from  the 
matinees.  Acquaintances  of  Vandover  were  almost  sure 
to  pass  at  every  hour. 

He  took  rooms  temporarily  at  the  Palace  and  at  once 
set  about  locating  on  Sutter  Street.  He  had  recourse 
again  to  Brunt,  who  furnished  him  with  a  long  list  of 
vacancies  in  that  neighbourhood.  Apartment-hunting 
was  an  agreeable  pastime  to  Vandover,  though  in  the  end 
it  began  to  bore  him.  Altogether,  he  visited  some  fifteen 
or  twenty  suites,  in  each  case  trying  to  fit  himself  into 
the  rooms,  imagining  how  the  window-seat  would  look 
in  such  a  window,  how  the  pipe-rack  would  show  over 
such  a  mantel,  just  where  on  such  walls  the  Assyrian 
bas-reliefs  could  be  placed  to  the  best  advantage,  and  if 
his  easel  could  receive  enough  steady  light  from  such 
windows.  Then  he  considered  the  conveniences,  the 
baths,  the  electric  light,  and  the  heat. 

After  a  two  weeks'  search,  he  had  decided  upon  one 
of  two  suites;  both  of  these  were  in  the  desired  neighbour 
hood  but  differed  widely  in  other  respects. 

The  first  was  reasonable  enough  in  the  matter  of  rent, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  173 

and  had  even  been  occupied  by  an  artist  for  some  three 
or  four  years  previous.  However,  the  room  that  Vandover 
proposed  to  use  as  a  sitting-room  was  small  and  had  no 
double  windows,  thus  making  the  window-seat  an  impos 
sibility.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  any  suitable  place  for 
the  Assyrian  bas-reliefs,  and  the  mantelpiece  was  of  old- 
fashioned  white  marble  like  the  mantelpiece  in  Mrs. 
Wade's  front  parlour,  a  veritable  horror.  It  revolted 
Vandover  even  to  think  of  putting  a  pipe-rack  over  it. 
These  defects  were  offset  by  the  studio,  a  large  and  splen 
did  room  with  hardwood  floors  and  an  enormous  north 
light,  the  legendary  studio,  the  dream  of  an  artist,  pre 
cisely  such  a  studio  as  Vandover  had  hoped  he  would 
occupy  in  the  Quarter. 

The  other  suite  was  in  a  great  apartment  house,  a  hotel 
in  fact,  but  very  expensive,  with  electric  bulbs  and  bells, 
and  with  a  tiled  bathroom  connecting  with  the  bedroom. 
The  room  which  he  would  be  obliged  to  use  as  his  studio 
was  small,  dark,  the  light  coming  from  the  west.  But 
the  sitting-room  was  perfect.  It  had  the  sun  all  day  long 
through  a  huge  bay  window  that  seemed  to  have  been 
made  for  a  window-seat;  there  were  admirable,  well- 
lighted  spaces  on  the  walls  for  casts  and  pictures,  and  the 
mantelpiece  was  charming,  extremely  high,  and  made  of 
oak;  in  a  word,  the  exact  sitting-room  that  Vandover  had 
in  mind.  Already  he  saw  himself  settled  there  as  com 
fortably  and  snugly  as  a  kernel  in  a  nutshell.  It  was 
true  that  upon  investigation  he  found  that  the  grate  had 
been  plastered  up  and  the  flue  arranged  for  a  stove. 
But  for  that  matter  there  were  open-grate  stoves  to  be 
had  that  would  permit  the  fire  to  be  seen  and  that  would 


174  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

look  just  as  cheerful  as  a  grate.  He  had  even  seen  such 
a  stove  in  the  window  of  a  hardware  store  downtown,  a 
tiled  stove  with  a  brass  fender  and  with  curious  flamboyant 
ornaments  of  cast-iron  —  a  jewel  of  a  stove. 

For  two  days  Vandover  hesitated  between  these  two 
suites,  undecided  whether  he  should  sacrifice  his  studio 
for  his  sitting-room,  or  his  sitting-room  for  his  studio. 
At  length  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  as  he  was  now 
to  be  an  artist  a  good  studio  ought  to  be  the  first  consider 
ation,  and  that  since  he  was  to  settle  down  to  hard, 
serious  work  at  last  he  owed  it  to  himself  to  have  a  fitting 
place  in  which  to  paint;  yes,  decidedly  he  would  take 
the  suite  with  the  studio.  He  went  to  the  agent,  told 
him  of  his  decision,  and  put  up  a  deposit  to  secure  the 
rooms. 

The  same  day  upon  which  he  took  this  decided  step 
he  had  occasion  to  pass  by  both  places  in  question.  As 
he  approached  the  apartment  house  in  which  the  rejected 
suite  was  situated  it  occurred  to  him  to  tell  the  clerk  in 
the  office  that  he  had  decided  against  the  rooms;  he  could 
take  a  last  look  at  them  at  the  same  time. 

He  was  shown  up  to  the  rooms  again,  and  walked  about 
in  the  sitting-room,  asking  the  same  questions  about  the 
heat,  the  plumbing,  and  the  baths.  He  even  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  out  into  the  street.  It  was  a  first-rate 
berth  just  the  same,  and  how  jolly  it  would  be  to  lounge 
in  the  window-seat  of  a  morning,  with  a  paper,  a  cigarette, 
and  a  cup  of  coffee,  watching  the  people  on  their  way  down 
town;  the  women  going  to  their  shopping  and  morning's 
marketing.  Then  all  at  once  he  remembered  that  at 
most  he  would  only  have  these  rooms  for  five  months,  and 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  175 

reflected  that  if  his  whole  life  was  to  be  devoted  to  painting 
he  might  easily  put  up  with  an  inconvenient  studio  for  a 
few  months.  Once  at  Paris  all  would  be  different. 

At  that  the  rooms  took  on  a  more  charming  aspect  than 
ever;  never  had  they  appeared  cheerier,  sunnier,  more 
comfortable;  never  had  the  oak  mantel  and  the  tiled  stove 
with  the  flamboyant  ornaments  been  more  desirable; 
never  had  a  window-seat  seemed  more  luxurious,  never 
a  pipe-rack  more  delectable,  while  at  the  same  time,  the 
other  rooms,  the  rooms  of  the  big  studio,  presented  them 
selves  to  his  imagination  more  sombre,  uncomfortable, 
and  forbidding  than  ever.  It  was  out  of  the  question  to 
think  of  living  there;  he  was  angry  with  himself  for  hav 
ing  hesitated  so  long.  But  suddenly  he  remembered  the 
deposit  he  had  already  made;  it  was  ten  dollars;  for  a 
moment  he  paused,  then  dismissed  the  matter  with  an 
impatient  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "So  much  the  worse," 
he  said.  "What's  ten  dollars?"  He  made  up  his  mind 
then  and  there  and  went  downstairs,  walking  on  his  heels, 
to  tell  the  clerk  that  after  all  he  would  engage  the  rooms 
from  that  date. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

VANDOVER  took  formal  possession  of  his  rooms  on  Sutler 
Street  during  the  first  few  days  of  February.  For  a  week 
previous  they  had  been  in  the  greatest  confusion:  the 
studio  filled  with  a  great  number  of  trunks,  crates,  pack 
ing  cases,  and  furniture  still  in  its  sacking.  In  the  bed 
room  was  stored  the  furniture  that  had  been  moved  out 
of  the  sitting-room,  while  the  sitting-room  itself  was  given 
over  to  the  paperhangers  and  carpenters.  Vandover 
himself  appeared  from  time  to  time,  inquiring  anxiously 
as  to  the  arrival  of  his  "stuff,"  or  sitting  on  a  packing- 
case,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  pushed  back,  and 
a  cigarette  between  his  lips. 

He  had  passed  a  delightful  week  selecting  the  wall 
paper  and  the  pattern  for  the  frieze,  buying  rugs,  screens, 
Assyrian  bas-reliefs,  photogravures  of  Renaissance  por 
traits,  and  the  famous  tiled  stove  with  its  flamboyant 
ornaments.  Just  after  renting  his  home  he  had  had  a  talk 
with  the  English  gentleman  of  the  fruit  syndicate  and  had 
spoken  about  certain  ornaments  and  bits  of  furniture, 
valuable  chiefly  to  himself,  which  he  wished  to  keep.  The 
president  of  the  fruit  syndicate  had  been  very  gracious 
in  the  matter,  and  as  soon  as  Vandover  had  taken  his 
rooms  he  had  removed  two  great  cases  of  such  articles 
from  the  California  Street  house  and  had  stored  them  in 
the  studio. 

176 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  177 

After  the  workmen  were  gone  away  Vandover  began 
the  labour  of  arrangement,  aided  by  one  of  the  paper- 
hangers  he  had  retained  for  that  purpose.  It  was  a  work 
of  three  days,  but  at  last  everything  was  in  its  place,  and 
one  evening  toward  the  middle  of  the  month  Vandover 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  sitting-room  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
holding  the  tweezers  and  a  length  of  picture-wire  in  his 
hand,  and  looked  around  him  in  his  new  home. 

The  walls  were  hung  with  dull  blue  paper  of  a  very 
rough  texture  set  off  by  a  narrow  picture  moulding  of 
ivory  white.  A  dark  red  carpet  covered  with  rugs  and 
skins  lay  on  the  floor.  Upon  the  left-hand  wall,  reaching  to 
the  floor,  hung  a  huge  rug  of  sombre  colours  against  which 
were  fixed  a  fencing  trophy,  a  pair  of  antlers,  a  little  water 
colour  sketch  of  a  Norwegian  fjord,  and  Vandover's  banjo; 
underneath  it  was  a  low  but  very  broad  divan  covered  with 
corduroy.  To  the  right  and  left  of  this  divan  stood 
breast-high  bookcases  with  olive  green  curtains,  their 
tops  serving  as  shelves  for  a  multitude  of  small  ornaments, 
casts  of  animals  by  Fremilt  and  Barye,  Donatello's  lovely 
femme  inconnue,  beer  steins,  a  little  bronze  clock,  a  cal 
endar,  and  a  yellow  satin  slipper  of  Flossie's  in  which 
Vandover  kept  Turkish  cigarettes.  The  writing-desk  with 
the  huge  blue  blotter  in  a  silver  frame,  the  paper- 
cutter,  and  the  enormous  brass  inkstand  filled  the  corner 
to  the  right  of  the  divan,  while  drawn  up  to  it  was  the  huge 
leather  chair,  the  chair  in  which  the  Old  Gentleman  had 
died.  In  the  drawer  of  the  desk  Vandover  kept  his 
father's  revolver;  he  never  thought  of  loading  it;  of  late 
he  had  only  used  it  to  drive  tacks  with,  when  he  could  not 
find  the  hammer.  Opposite  the  divan,  on  the  other  side 


178  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

of  the  room,  was  the  famous  tiled  stove  with  the  flamboy 
ant  ornaments;  back  of  this  the  mantel,  and  over  the  man 
tel  a  row  of  twelve  grotesque  heads  in  plaster,  with  a 
space  between  each  for  a  pipe.  To  the  left  in  the  angle 
of  the  room  stood  the  Japanese  screen  in  black  and  gold, 
and  close  to  this  a  tea-table  of  bamboo  and  a  piano-lamp 
with  a  great  shade  of  crinkly  red  paper  that  Turner  Ravis 
had  given  to  Vandover  one  Christmas.  The  bay  window 
was  filled  by  the  window-seat,  covered  with  corduroy 
like  the  divan  and  heaped  with  cushions,  one  of  them  of 
flaming  yellow,  the  one  spot  of  vivid  colour  amidst  the 
dull  browns  and  sombre  blues  of  the  room.  A  great 
sideboard  with  decanters  and  glasses  and  chafing-dishes 
faced  the  window  from  the  end  wall.  The  entrance  to 
the  studio  opened  to  the  left  of  it,  which  entrance  Van- 
^  clover  had  hung  with  curtains  of  dust-brown  plush. 

The  casts  of  the  Assyrian  bas-reliefs  were  against  the 
wall  upon  either  side  of  the  window.  There  were  three 
of  them,  two  representing  scenes  from  the  life  of  the  king, 
the  third  the  wounded  lioness  which  Vandover  never 
wearied  of  admiring. 

Upon  the  wall  over  the  mantel  hung  two  very  large 
photogravures,  one  of  Rembrandt's  "Night  Watch,"  the 
other  a  portrait  of  Velasquez  representing  a  young  man 
with  a  hunting  spear.  Above  one  of  the  bookcases  was  an 
admirable  reproduction  of  the  "Mona  Lisa";  above  the 
other,  a  carbon  print  of  a  Vandyke,  a  Dutch  lady  in  a  silk 
gown  and  very  high  ruff. 

By  the  side  of  the  "Mona  Lisa,"  however,  was  a  cheap 
brass  rack  stuffed  with  photographs:  actresses  in  tights, 
French  quadrille  dancers,  high  kickers,  and  chorus  girls. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  179 

In  the  studio,  Vandover  had  tacked  great  squares  and 
stripes  of  turkey-red  cloth  against  the  walls  to  serve  as  a 
background  for  his  sketches.  Some  dozen  or  more  port 
folios  and  stretchers  were  leaned  against  the  baseboard, 
and  a  few  ornaments  and  pieces  of  furniture,  such  things 
as  Vandover  set  but  little  store  by,  were  carelessly  arranged 
about  the  room.  The  throne  and  huge  easel  were  dis 
posed  so  as  to  receive  as  much  light  as  was  possible. 

Beyond  the  studio  was  the  bedroom,  but  here  there 
was  only  the  regulation  furniture.  Some  scores  of  photo 
graphs  of  Vandover's  friends  were  tacked  upon  the  walls, 
or  thrust  between  the  wood  and  glass  of  the  mirror. 

A  new  life  now  began  for  Vandover,  a  life  of  luxury  and 
aimlessness  which  he  found  charming.  He  had  no  duties, 
no  cares,  no  responsibilities.  But  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  he  was  in  a  manner  changed;  the  old  life  of  dissipa 
tion  seemed  to  have  lost  its  charm.  For  nearly  twenty- 
six  years  nothing  extraordinary  had  happened  to  break 
in  upon  the  uneventful  and  ordinary  course  of  his  exis 
tence,  and  then,  suddenly,  three  great  catastrophes  had  be 
fallen,  like  the  springing  of  three  successive  mines  beneath 
his  feet:  Ida's  suicide,  the  wreck,  and  his  father's  death, 
all  within  a  month.  The  whole  fabric  of  his  character 
had  been  shaken,  jostled  out  of  its  old  shape.  His  desire 
of  vice  was  numbed,  his  evil  habits  all  deranged;  here,  if 
ever,  was  the  chance  to  begin  anew,  to  commence  all  over 
again.  It  seemed  an  easy  matter:  he  would  merely  have 
to  remain  inactive,  impassive,  and  his  character  would  of 
itself  re-form  upon  the  new  conditions. 

But  Vandover  made  another  fatal  mistake:  the  brute  in 
him  had  only  been  stunned;  the  snake  was  only  soothed. 


180  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

His  better  self  was  as  sluggish  as  the  brute,  and  his  desire 
of  art  as  numb  as  his  desire  of  vice.  It  was  not  a  contin 
ued  state  of  inaction  and  idleness  that  could  help  him,  but 
rather  an  active  and  energetic  arousing  and  spurring  up 
of  those  better  qualities  in  him  still  dormant  and  inert. 
The  fabric  of  his  nature  was  shaken  and  broken  up,  it 
was  true,  but  if  he  left  it  to  itself  there  was  danger  that  it 
would  re-form  upon  the  old  lines. 

And  this  was  precisely  what  Vandover  did.  As  rapidly 
as  ever  his  pliable  character  adapted  itself  to  the  new 
environment;  he  had  nothing  to  do;  there  was  lacking  both 
the  desire  and  necessity  to  keep  him  at  his  easel;  he  neg 
lected  his  painting  utterly.  He  never  thought  of  attend 
ing  the  life-class  at  the  art  school;  long  since  he  had  given 
up  his  downtown  studio.  He  was  content  to  be  idle,  list 
less,  apathetic,  letting  the  days  bring  whatever  they  chose, 
making  no  effort  toward  any  fixed  routine,  allowing  his 
habits  to  be  formed  by  the  exigencies  of  the  hour. 

He  rose  late  and  took  his  breakfast  in  his  room;  after 
breakfast  he  sat  in  his  window-seat,  reading  his  paper, 
smoking  his  pipe,  drinking  his  coffee,  and  watching  the 
women  on  their  way  downtown  to  their  morning's  shop 
ping  or  marketing.  Then,  as  the  fancy  moved  him,  he 
read  a  novel,  wrote  a  few  letters,  or  passed  an  hour  in  the 
studio  dabbling  with  some  sketches  for  the  "Last  Enemy." 
Very  often  he  put  in  the  whole  morning  doing  pen  and  inks 
of  pretty,  smartly  dressed  girls,  after  Gibson's  manner, 
which  he  gave  away  afterward  to  his  friends.  In  the  after 
noon  he  read  or  picked  the  banjo  or,  sitting  down  to  the 
little  piano  he  had  rented,  played  over  his  three  pieces, 
the  two  polkas  and  the  air  of  the  topical  song.  At  three 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  181 

o'clock,  especially  of  Wednesday  and  Saturday  afternoons, 
he  bestirred  himself,  dressed  very  carefully,  and  went 
downtown  to  promenade  Kearney  and  Market  streets, 
stopping  occasionally  at  the  Imperial,  where  he  sometimes 
found  Ellis  and  Geary  and  where  he  took  cocktails  in  their 
company. 

He  rarely  went  out  in  the  evenings;  his  father's  death 
had  changed  all  that,  at  least  for  a  while.  He  had  not 
seen  Turner  Ravis  nor  Henrietta  Vance  for  nearly  two 
months. 

Vandover  took  his  greatest  pleasure  while  in  his  new 
quarters,  delighted  to  be  pottering  about  his  sitting-room 
by  the  hour,  setting  it  to  rights,  rearranging  the  smaller 
ornaments,  adjusting  the  calendar,  winding  the  clock  and, 
above  all,  tending  the  famous  tiled  stove. 

In  his  idleness  he  grew  to  have  small  and  petty  ways. 
The  entire  day  went  in  doing  little  things.  He  passed 
one  whole  afternoon  delightfully,  whittling  out  a  new  banjo 
bridge  from  the  cover  of  a  cigar-box,  scraping  it  smooth 
afterward  with  a  bit  of  glass.  The  winding  of  his  clock 
was  quite  an  occurrence  in  the  course  of  the  day,  some 
thing  to  be  looked  forward  to.  The  mixing  of  his  tobacco 
was  a  positive  event  and  undertaken  with  all  gravity,  while 
the  task  of  keeping  it  moist  and  ripe  in  the  blue  china  jar, 
with  the  sponge  attachment,  that  always  stood  on  the 
bamboo  tea-table  by  the  Japanese  screen,  was  a  wearing 
anxiety  that  was  yet  a  pleasure. 

It  became  a  fad  with  him  to  do  without  matches,  using 
as  a  substitute  "lights,"  tapers  of  twisted  paper  to  be 
ignited  at  the  famous  stove.  He  found  amusement  for 
two  days  in  twisting  and  rolling  these  "lights,"  cutting 


182  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

frills  in  the  larger  ends  with  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  stacking 
them  afterward  in  a  Chinese  flower  jar  he  had  bought  for 
the  purpose  and  stood  on  top  of  the  bookcases.  The 
lights  were  admirably  made  and  looked  very  pretty. 
When  he  had  done  he  counted  them.  He  had  made  two 
hundred  exactly.  What  a  coincidence! 

But  the  stove,  the  famous  tiled  stove  with  flamboyant 
ornaments,  was  the  chief est  joy  of  Vandover's  new  life. 
He  was  delighted  with  it;  it  was  so  artistic,  so  curious,  it 
kept  the  fire  so  well,  it  looked  so  cheerful  and  inviting;  a 
stove  that  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  whole  room,  a 
stove  to  draw  up  to  and  talk  to;  no,  never  was  there 
such  a  stove!  There  was  hardly  a  minute  of  the  day  he 
was  not  fussing  with  it,  raking  it  down,  turning  the  dam 
per  off  and  on,  opening  and  shutting  the  door,  filling  it 
with  coal,  putting  the  blower  on  and  then  taking  it  off 
again,  sweeping  away  the  ashes  with  a  little  brass-handled 
broom,  or  studying  the  pictures  upon  the  tiles:  the  "Pun 
ishment  of  Caliban  and  His  Associates,"  "Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  the  "  Fall  of  Phaeton."  He  even  pretended  to  the 
chambermaid  that  he  alone  understood  how  to  manage 
the  stove,  forbidding  her  to  touch  it,  assuring  her  that  it 
had  to  be  coaxed  and  humoured.  Often  late  in  the  even 
ing  as  he  was  going  to  bed  he  would  find  the  fire  in  it 
drowsing;  then  he  would  hustle  it  sharply  to  arouse  it, 
punching  it  with  the  poker,  talking  to  it,  saying:  "Wake 
up  there,  you! "  And  then  when  the  fire  was  snapping  he 
would  sit  before  it  in  his  bathrobe,  absorbing  its  heat 
luxuriously  and  scratching  himself,  as  was  his  custom,  for 
over  an  hour. 

But  very  often  in  the  evening  he  would  have  the  boys, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  183 

Ellis,  Geary,  and  young  Haight,  up  to  a  little  improvised 
supper.  They  would  bring  home  tamales  with  them, 
and  Vandover  would  try  to  make  Welsh  rabbits,  which 
did  not  always  come  out  well  and  which  they  oftentimes 
drank  instead  of  ate.  Ellis,  always  very  silent,  would  mix 
and  drink  cocktails  continually.  Vandover  would  pick 
his  banjo,  and  together  with  young  Haight  would  listen 
to  Geary. 

"Ah,  you  bet,"  this  one  would  say,  "I'm  going  to  make 
my  pile  in  this  town.  I  can  do  it.  Beale  sent  me  to 
court  the  other  morning  to  get  the  judge's  signature. 
He  had  a  grouch  on,  and  wanted  to  put  me  off.  You 
ought  to  have  heard  me  jolly  him.  I  talked  right  up  to 
him !  Yes,  sir;  you  bet !  Didn't  I  have  the  gall?  That's 
the  way  you  want  to  do  to  get  along  —  get  right  in  and  not 
be  afraid.  I  got  his  signature,  you  bet.  Ah,  I'm  right 
in  it  with  Beale;  he  thinks  I'm  hot  stuff." 

Now  that  there  was  nothing  to  worry  him,  and  little  to 
occupy  his  mind,  Varidover  gave  himself  over  consider 
ably  to  those  animal  pleasures  which  he  enjoyed  so  much. 
He  lay  abed  late  in  the  morning,  dozing  between  the  warm 
sheets;  he  overfed  himself  at  table,  and  drank  too  much 
wine;  he  ate  between  meals,  having  filled  his  sideboard 
with  canned  pates,  potted  birds,  and  devilled  meats; 
while  upon  the  bamboo  table  stood  a  tin  box  of  choco 
lates  out  of  which  he  ate  whole  handfuls  at  a  time.  He 
would  take  this  box  into  the  bathroom  with  him  and  eat 
while  he  lay  in  the  hot  water  until  he  was  overcome  by 
the  enervating  warmth  and  by  the  steam  and  would  then 
drop  off  to  sleep. 

It  was  during  these  days  that  Vandover  took  up  his 


184  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

banjo-playing  seriously,  if  it  could  be  said  that  he  did 
anything  seriously  at  this  time.  He  took  occasional  les 
sons  of  a  Mexican  in  a  room  above  a  wigmaker's  store  on 
Market  Street,  and  learned  to  play  by  note.  For  a  little 
time  he  really  applied  himself;  after  he  had  mastered  the 
customary  style  of  play  he  began  to  affect  the  more  bril 
liant  and  fancy  performances,  playing  two  banjos  at  once, 
or  putting  nickels  under  the  bridge  and  picking  the  strings 
with  a  calling-card  to  imitate  a  mandolin.  He  even  made 
up  some  comical  pieces  that  had  a  great  success  among  the 
boys.  One  of  these  he  called  the  "  Pleasing  Pan-Hellenic 
Production";  another  was  the  imitation  of  the  "Midway 
Plaisance  Music,"  and  a  third  had  for  title  "A  Sailor 
Robbing  a  Ship,"  in  which  he  managed  to  imitate  the 
sounds  of  the  lapping  of  the  water,  the  creaking  of  the 
oarlocks,  the  tramp  of  the  sailor's  feet  upon  the  deck, 
the  pistol  shot  that  destroyed  him,  and  —  by  running  up 
the  frets  on  the  bass-string  —  his  dying  groans,  a  finale 
that  never  failed  to  produce  a  tremendous  effect. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

JUST  before  Lent,  and  about  three  months  after  the 
death  of  Vandover 's  father,  Henrietta  Vance  gave  a 
reception  and  dance  at  her  house.  The  affair  was  one  of 
a  series  that  the  girls  of  the  Cotillon  had  been  giving  to  the 
men  of  the  same  club.  Vandover  had  gone  to  all  but  the 
last,  which  had  occurred  while  he  was  at  Coronado.  He 
was  sure  of  meeting  Geary,  young  Haight,  Turner  Ravis, 
and  all  the  people  of  his  set  at  these  functions,  and  had 
always  managed  to  have  a  very  jolly  time.  He  had  been 
very  quiet  since  his  father's  death  and  had  hardly  gone  out 
at  all ;  in  fact,  since  Ida  Wade's  death  and  his  trip  down  the 
coast  he  had  seen  none  of  his  acquaintances  except  the 
boys.  But  he  determined  now  that  he  would  go  to  this 
dance  and  in  so  doing  return  once  more  to  the  world  that 
he  knew.  By  this  time  he  had  become  pretty  well  accus 
tomed  to  his  father's  death  and  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  have  a  good  time. 

At  first  he  thought  he  would  ask  Turner  to  go  with 
him,  but  in  the  end  made  up  his  mind  to  go  alone,  instead; 
one  always  had  a  better  time  when  one  went  alone. 
Young  Haight  would  hare  liked  to  have  asked  Turner,  but 
did  not  because  he  supposed,  of  course,  that  Vandover 
would  take  her.  In  the  end  Turner  had  Delphine  act  as 
her  escort. 

Vandover  arrived  at  Henrietta  Vance's  house  at  about 

185 


186  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

half -past  eight.  A  couple  of  workmen  were  stretching 
the  last  guy  ropes  of  the  awning  that  reached  over  the 
sidewalk;  every  window  of  the  house  was  lighted.  The 
front  door  was  opened  for  the  guest  before  he  could  ring, 
and  he  passed  up  the  stairs,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  par 
lours  through  the  portieres  of  the  doors.  As  yet  they  were 
empty  of  guests,  the  floors  were  covered  with  canvas,  and 
the  walls  decorated  with  fern  leaves.  In  a  window  recess 
one  of  the  caterer's  men  was  setting  out  two  punch  bowls 
and  a  multitude  of  glass  cups;  three  or  four  musicians  were 
gathered  about  the  piano,  tuning  up,  and  one  heard  the 
subdued  note  of  a  cornet;  the  air  was  heavy  with  the 
smell  of  pinks  and  of  La  France  roses. 

At  the  turn  of  the  stairs  the  Vances'  second  girl  in  a 
white  lawn  cap  directed  him  to  the  gentlemen's  dressing- 
room,  which  was  the  room  of  Henrietta  Vance's  older 
brother.  About  a  dozen  men  were  here  before  him,  some 
rolling  up  their  overcoats  into  balls  and  stowing  them  with 
their  canes  in  the  corners  of  the  room ;  others  laughing  and 
smoking  together,  and  still  others  who  were  either  brush 
ing  their  hair  before  the  mirrors  or  sitting  on  the  bed  in 
their  stocking  feet,  breathing  upon  their  patent  leathers, 
warming  them  before  putting  them  on.  There  were  one 
or  two  who  knew  no  one  and  who  stood  about  unhap 
pily,  twisting  the  tissue  paper  from  the  buttons  of  their 
new  gloves,  and  looking  stupidly  at  the  pictures  on  the 
walls  of  the  room.  Occasionally  one  of  the  gentlemen 
would  step  to  the  door  and  look  out  into  the  hall  to  see  if 
the  ladies  whom  they  were  escorting  were  yet  come  out 
of  their  dressing-room,  ready  to  go  down. 

On  the  centre  table  stood  three  boxes  of  cigars  and  a 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  187 

great  many  packages  of  cigarettes,  while  extra  hairbrushes, 
whiskbrooms,  and  papers  of  pins  had  been  placed  about 
the  bureau. 

As  Vandover  came  in,  he  nodded  pleasantly  to  such  of 
the  men  as  he  knew,  and,  after  hiding  his  hat  and  coat 
under  the  bed,  shook  himself  into  his  clothes  again  and 
rearranged  his  dress  tie. 

The  house  was  filling  up  rapidly;  one  heard  the  dead 
ened  roll  of  wheels  in  the  street  outside,  the  banging  of 
carriage  doors,  and  an  incessant  rustle  of  stiff  skirts  as 
cending  the  stairs.  From  the  ladies*  dressing-room  came 
an  increasing  soprano  chatter,  while  downstairs  the  or 
chestra  around  the  piano  in  the  back  parlour  began  to 
snarl  and  whine  louder  and  louder.  About  the  halls  and 
stairs  one  caught  brief  glimpses  of  white  and  blue  opera 
cloaks  edged  with  swan's-down  alternating  with  the  gleam 
of  a  starched  shirt  bosom  and  the  glint  of  a  highly  polished 
silk  hat.  Odours  of  sachet  and  violets  came  and  went 
elusively  or  mingled  with  those  of  the  roses  and  pinks. 
An  air  of  gayety  and  excitement  began  to  spread  through 
out  the  house. 

"Hello,  old  man!"  "Hello,  Van!"  Charlie  Geary, 
young  Haight,  and  Ellis  came  in  together.  "  Hello,  boys !" 
answered  Vandover,  hairbrush  in  hand,  turning  about 
from  the  mirror,  where  he  had  been  trying  to  make  his 
hair  lie  very  flat  and  smooth. 

"Look  here,"  said  Geary,  showing  him  a  dance-card 
already  full,  "I've  got  every  dance  promised.  I  looked 
out  for  that  at  the  last  one  of  these  affairs;  made  all  my  ar 
rangements  and  engagements  then.  Ah,  you  bet,  I  don't 
get  left  on  any  dance.  That's  the  way  you  want  to  rustle. 


188  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Ah,"  he  went  on,  "had  a  bully  sleep  last  night.  I  knew 
I  was  going  to  be  out  late  to-night,  so  I  went  to  bed  at 
nine;  didn't  wake  up  till  seven.  Had  a  fine  cutlet  for 
breakfast." 

It  was  precisely  at  this  moment  that  Geary  got  his  first 
advancement  in  life.  Mr.  Beale,  Jr.,  head  clerk  in  the 
great  firm  of  Beale  &  Story,  came  up  to  him  as  he  was 
drawing  off  his  overcoat : 

"How  is  Fischer?"  asked  Geary. 

Beale,  Jr.  pulled  him  over  into  a  corner,  talking  in  a 
low  voice.  "He's  even  worse  than  yesterday,"  he  an 
swered.  "I  think  we  shall  have  to  give  him  a  vacation, 
and  that's  what  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about.  If  you 
can,  Geary,  I  should  like  to  have  you  take  his  place  for  a 
while,  at  least  until  we  get  through  with  this  contract 
case.  I  don't  know  about  Fischer.  He's  sick  so  often, 
I'm  afraid  we  may  have  to  let  him  go  altogether." 

Suddenly  the  orchestra  downstairs  broke  out  into  a 
clash  of  harmony  and  then  swung  off  with  the  beat  and 
cadence  of  a  waltz.  The  dance  was  beginning;  a  great 
bustle  and  hurrying  commenced  about  the  dressing- 
rooms  and  at  the  head  of  the  stairs;  everybody  went 
down.  In  the  front  parlour  by  the  mantel  Henrietta 
Vance  and  Turner  stood  on  either  side  of  Mrs.  Vance, 
receiving,  shaking  hands,  and  laughing  and  talking  with 
the  different  guests  who  came  up  singly,  in  couples,  or  in 
noisy  groups. 

No  one  was  dancing  yet.  The  orchestra  stopped  with  a 
flourish  of  the  cornet,  and  at  once  a  great  crowding  and 
pushing  began  amidst  a  vast  hum  of  talk.  The  cards 
were  being  filled  up,  a  swarm  of  men  gathered  about  each 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  189 

of  the  more  popular  girls,  passing  her  card  from  hand  to 
hand  while  she  smiled  upon  them  all  helplessly  and  good- 
naturedly.  The  dance-cards  had  run  short  and  some  of 
the  men  were  obliged  to  use  their  visiting  cards;  with 
these  in  one  hand  and  the  stump  of  a  pencil  in  the  other, 
they  ran  about  from  group  to  group,  pushing,  elbowing, 
and  calling  over  one  another's  heads  like  brokers  in  a  stock 
exchange. 

Geary,  however,  walked  about  calmly,  smiling  content 
edly,  very  good-humoured.  From  time  to  time  he  stopped 
such  a  one  of  the  hurrying,  excited  men  as  he  knew  and 
showed  him  his  card  made  out  weeks  before,  saying,  "Ah, 
how's  that?  /  am  all  fixed;  made  all  my  engagements  at 
the  last  one  of  these  affairs,  even  up  to  six  extras.  That's 
the  way  you  want  to  rustle." 

Young  Haight  was  very  popular;  everywhere  the  girls 
nodded  and  smiled  at  him,  many  even  saving  a  place  on 
their  cards  for  him  before  he  had  asked. 

Ellis  took  advantage  of  the  confusion  to  disappear. 
He  went  up  into  the  deserted  dressing-room,  chose  a 
cigar,  unbuttoned  his  vest  and  sat  down  in  one  chair, 
putting  his  feet  upon  another.  The  hum  of  the  dance 
came  to  him  in  a  prolonged  and  soothing  murmur  and  he 
enjoyed  it  in  some  strange  way  of  his  own,  listening  and 
smoking,  stretched  out  at  ease  in  the  deserted  dressing- 
room. 

Vandover  went  up  to  Turner  Ravis  smiling  and  holding 
out  his  hand.  She  seemed  to  be  curiously  embarrassed 
when  she  saw  him,  and  did  not  smile  back  at  him.  He 
asked  to  see  her  card,  but  she  drew  her  hand  quickly  from 
his,  telling  him  that  she  was  going  home  early  and  was 


190  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

not  dancing  at  all,  that  in  fact  she  had  to  "receive"  in 
stead  of  dance.  It  was  evident  to  Vandover  that  he  had 
done  something  to  displease  her,  and  he  quickly  concluded 
that  it  was  because  he  had  not  asked  her  to  go  with  him 
that  evening. 

He  turned  from  her  to  Henrietta  Vance  as  though  noth 
ing  unusual  had  happened,  resolving  to  see  her  later  in 
the  evening  and  in  the  meanwhile  invent  some  suitable 
excuse.  Henrietta  Vance  did  not  even  see  his  hand;  she 
was  a  very  jolly  girl,  ordinarily,  and  laughed  all  the  time. 
Now  she  looked  him  squarely  in  the  face  without  so  much 
as  a  smile,  at  once  angry  and  surprised;  never  had  any 
thing  seemed  so  hateful  and  disagreeable.  Vandover  put 
his  hand  back  into  his  pocket,  trying  to  carry  it  all  off  with 
a  laugh,  saying  in  order  to  make  her  laugh  with  him  as  he 
used  to  do,  "Hello!  how  do  you  do  this  evening?  It's  a 
pleasant  morning  this  afternoon."  "How  do  you  do?" 
she  answered  nervously,  refusing  to  laugh.  Then  she 
turned  from  him  abruptly  to  talk  to  young  Haight's 
little  cousin  Hetty. 

Mrs.  Vance  was  neither  embarrassed  nor  nervous  as  the 
girls  had  been.  She  stared  calmly  at  Vandover  and  said 
with  a  peculiar  smile,  "I  am  surprised  to  see  you  here, 
Mr.  Vandover." 

An  hour  later  the  dance  was  in  full  swing.  Almost 
every  number  was  a  waltz  or  a  two-step,  the  music  being 
the  topical  songs  and  popular  airs  of  the  day  set  to  dance 
music. 

About  half-past  ten  o'clock,  between  two  dances,  the 
cornet  sounded  a  trumpet  call;  the  conversation  ceased  in 
a  moment,  and  Henrietta  Vance's  brother,  standing  by  the 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  191 

piano,  called  out,  "The  next  dance  will  be  the  first  extra" 
adding  immediately, "  a  waltz."  The  dance  recommenced ; 
in  the  pauses  of  the  music  one  heard  the  rhythmic  move 
ment  of  the  feet  shuffling  regularly  in  one-two-three  time. 

Some  of  the  couples  waltzed  fast,  whirling  about  the 
rooms,  bearing  around  corners  with  a  swirl  and  swing  of 
silk  skirts,  the  girls'  faces  flushed  and  perspiring,  their 
eyes  half-closed,  their  bare,  white  throats  warm,  moist, 
and  alternately  swelling  and  contracting  with  their  quick 
breathing.  On  certain  of  these  girls  the  dancing  produced 
a  peculiar  effect.  The  continued  motion,  the  whirl  of  the 
lights,  the  heat  of  the  room,  the  heavy  perfume  of  the 
flowers,  the  cadence  of  the  music,  even  the  physical 
fatigue,  reacted  in  some  strange  way  upon  their  oversen 
sitive  feminine  nerves,  the  monotony  of  repeated  sensa 
tion  producing  some  sort  of  mildly  hypnotic  effect,  a 
morbid  hysterical  pleasure  the  more  exquisite  because 
mixed  with  pain.  These  were  the  girls  whom  one  heard 
declaring  that  they  could  dance  all  night,  the  girls  who 
could  dance  until  they  dropped. 

Other  of  the  couples  danced  with  the  greatest  languor 
and  gravity,  their  arms  held  out  rigid  and  at  right  angles 
with  their  bodies. 

About  the  doors  and  hallways  stood  the  unhappy  gen 
tlemen  who  knew  no  one,  watching  the  others  dance, 
feigning  to  be  amused.  Some  of  them,  however,  had  as 
cended  to  the  dressing-room  and  began  to  strike  up  an 
acquaintance  with  each  other  and  with  Ellis,  smoking  in 
cessantly,  discussing  business,  politics,  and  even  religion. 

In  the  ladies'  dressing-room  two  of  the  maids  were  hold 
ing  a  long  conversation  in  low  tones,  their  heads  together; 


192  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

evidently  it  was  concerning  something  dreadful.  They 
continually  exclaimed  "Oh!"  and  "Ah!"  suddenly  sitting 
back  from  each  other,  shaking  their  heads,  and  biting  their 
nether  lips.  On  the  top  floor  in  the  hall  the  servants  in 
their  best  clothes  leaned  over  the  balustrade,  nudging  each 
other,  talking  in  hoarse  whispers  or  pointing  with  thick 
fingers  swollen  with  dish-water.  All  up  and  down  the 
stairs  were  the  couples  who  were  sitting  out  the  dance, 
some  of  them  even  upon  the  circular  sofa  in  the  hall 
over  the  first  landing. 

The  music  stopped,  leaving  a  babel  of  talk  in  the  air,  the 
couples  fell  apart  for  an  instant,  but  a  great  clapping  of 
hands  broke  out  and  the  tired  musicians  heroically  recom 
menced. 

As  soon  as  the  short  encore  was  done  there  was  a  rush 
for  the  lemonade  and  punch  bowls.  The  guests  thronged 
around  them  joking  each  other.  "Hello!  are  you  here 
again?"  "Oh,  this  is  dreadful!"  "This  makes  six 
times  I've  seen  you  here." 

A  smell  of  coffee  rose  into  the  air  from  the  basement. 
It  was  about  half -past  eleven;  the  next  dance  was  the  sup 
per  dance  and  the  gentlemen  hurried  about  anxiously 
searching  the  stairs,  the  parlours,  and  the  conservatory 
for  the  girls  who  had  promised  them  this  dance  weeks  before. 
The  musicians  were  playing  a  march,  and  the  couples 
crowded  down  the  narrow  stairs  in  single  file,  the  ladies 
drawing  off  their  gloves.  The  tired  musicians  stretched 
themselves,  rubbed  their  eyes,  and  began  to  talk  aloud 
in  the  deserted  parlours. 

Supper  was  served  in  the  huge  billiard-room  in  the  base 
ment  and  was  eaten  in  a  storm  of  gayety.  The  same 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  193 

parties  and  "sets"  tried  to  get  together  at  the  same  table; 
Henrietta  Vance's  party  was  particularly  noisy:  at  her 
table  there  was  an  incessant  clamour  of  screams  and 
shouts  of  laughter.  One  ate  oysters  a  la  poulette,  terrapin- 
salads,  and  croquettes;  the  wines  were  Sauternes  and 
champagnes.  With  the  nuts  and  dessert  the  caps  came  on, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  were  cracking  and  snapping  all  over 
the  room. 

Six  of  the  unfortunates  who  knew  no  one,  but  who  had 
managed  through  a  common  affliction  to  become  ac 
quainted  with  each  other,  gathered  at  a  separate  table. 
Ellis  was  one  of  their  number;  he  levied  a  twenty-five 
assessment,  and  tipped  the  waiter  a  dollar  and  a  half. 
This  one  accordingly  brought  them  extra  bottles  of  cham 
pagne  in  which  they  found  consolation  for  all  the  ennui  of 
the  evening. 

After  supper  the  dancing  began  again.  The  little  stiff 
ness  and  constraint  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening  was 
gone;  by  this  time  nearly  everybody,  except  the  unfortu 
nates,  knew  everybody  else.  The  good  dinner  and  the 
champagne  had  put  them  all  into  an  excellent  humour, 
and  they  all  commenced  to  be  very  jolly.  They  began  a 
Virginia  Reel  still  wearing  the  magician's  caps  and  Phry 
gian  bonnets  of  tissue  paper. 

Young  Haight  was  with  Turner  Ravis  as  much  as  possi 
ble  during  the  evening,  very  happy  and  excited.  Some 
thing  had  happened;  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  say  pre 
cisely  what,  for  on  the  face  of  things  Turner  was  the  same 
as  ever.  Nothing  in  her  speech  or  actions  was  different, 
but  there  was  in  her  manner,  in  the  very  air  that  sur 
rounded  her,  something  elusive  and  subtle  that  set  him  all 


194  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

in  a  tremor.  There  was  a  change  in  his  favour;  he  felt 
that  she  liked  to  have  him  with  her  and  that  she  was  try 
ing  to  have  him  feel  as  much  in  some  mysterious  way  of 
her  own.  He  could  see,  however,  that  she  was  hardly 
conscious  of  doing  this  and  that  the  change  was  more 
apparent  to  his  eyes  than  it  was  to  hers. 

"Must  you  really  go  home  now?"  he  said,  as  Turner 
began  to  talk  of  leaving,  soon  after  supper.  They  had 
been  sitting  out  the  dance  under  a  palm  at  the  angle  of 
the  stairs. 

"Yes,"  answered  Turner;  "Howard  has  the  measles 
and  I  promised  to  be  home  early.  Delphine  was  to  come 
for  me  and  she  ought  to  be  here  now." 

"Delphine?"  exclaimed  young  Haight.  "Didn't  you 
come  with  Van?" 

"No,"  answered  Turner  quietly.  Only  by  her  manner, 
and  by  something  in  the  way  she  said  the  word,  Haight 
knew  at  once  that  she  had  broken  definitely  with  Van- 
dover.  The  talk  he  had  had  with  her  at  her  house  came 
back  to  him  on  the  instant.  He  hesitated  a  moment  and 
then  asked : 

"There  is  something  wrong?  Has  Van  done  anything 
—  never  mind,  I  don't  mean  that;  it's  no  business  of  mine, 
I  suppose.  But  I  know  you  care  for  him.  I'm  sorry 
if-  -" 

But  he  was  not  sorry.  Try  as  he  would,  his  heart  was 
leaping  in  him  for  joy.  With  Vandover  out  of  the  way,  he 
knew  that  all  would  be  different;  Turner  herself  had  said  so. 

"Oh,  everything  is  wrong,"  said  Turner,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "I  have  been  so  disappointed  in  Van;  oh, 
terribly  disappointed." 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  195 

"I  know;  yes,  I  think  I  know  what  you  mean,"  an 
swered  young  Haight  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  let's  talk  about  it  at  all,"  cried  Turner. 
But  young  Haight  could  not  stop  now. 

"  Is  Van  really  out  of  the  question,  then?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  exclaimed,  not  seeing  what  he  was  com 
ing  to.  "Oh,  yes;  how  could  I  —  how  could  I  care  for 
him  after  —  after  what  has  happened?" 

Very  much  embarrassed,  young  Haight  went  on:  "I 
know  it's  unfair  to  take  advantage  of  you  now,  but  do 
you  remember  what  you  said  once?  That  if  Vandover 
were  out  of  the  question,  that  'perhaps9  you  might  — 
that  it  would  be  —  that  there  might  be  a  chance  for 
me?" 

Turner  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  and  then  she  said: 
"Yes,  I  remember." 

"Well,  how  about  that  now?"  asked  young  Haight  with 
a  nervous  laugh. 

"Ah,"  answered  Turner,  "how  do  I  know  —  so  soon!" 

"But  what  do  you  think,  Turner?"  he  persisted. 

"But  I  haven't  thought  at  all,"  she  returned. 

"Well,  think  now!"  he  went  on.  "Tell  me  —  how 
about  that?" 

" About  what?" 

"Ah,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  young  Haight  replied, 
feeling  like  a  little  boy,  "about  what  you  said  at  your 
house  that  Sunday  night.  Please  tell  me;  you  don't 
know  how  much  it  means  to  me." 

"Oh,  there's  Delphine  at  the  door!"  suddenly  exclaimed 
Turner.  "Now,  really,  I  must  go  down.  She  doesn't 
know  where  to  go;  she's  so  stupid ! " 


196  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

" No,"  he  answered,  "not  until  you  tell  me ! "  He  caught 
her  hand,  refusing  to  let  it  go. 

"Ah,  how  mean  you  are  to  corner  me  so!"  she  cried 

laughing  and  embarrassed.  "  Must  I  —  well I  know 

I  shouldn't.  0-oh,  I  just  detest  you!"  Young  Haight 
turned  her  hand  palm  upward  and  kissed  the  little  circle 
of  crumpled  flesh  that  showed  where  her  glove  buttoned. 
Then  she  tore  her  hand  away  and  ran  downstairs,  while  he 
followed  more  slowly. 

On  her  way  back  to  the  dressing-room  she  met  him 
again,  crossing  the  hall. 

"Don't  you  want  to  see  me  home?"  she  said. 

"Do  I  want  to?  "  shouted  young  Haight. 

"Oh,  but  I  forgot,"  she  cried.  "You  can't.  I  won't 
let  you.  You  have  your  other  dances  engaged ! " 

"Oh,  damn  the  other  dances!"  he  exclaimed,  but  in 
stead  of  being  offended,  Turner  only  smiled. 

Toward  one  o'clock  there  was  a  general  movement  to 
go.  Henrietta  Vance  and  Mrs.  Vance  were  inquired  for, 
and  the  blue  and  white  opera  cloaks  reappeared,  descend 
ing  the  stairs,  disturbing  the  couples  who  were  seated 
there.  The  banging  of  carriage  doors  and  the  rumble  of 
wheels  recommenced  in  the  street.  The  musicians  played 
a  little  longer.  As  the  party  thinned  out,  there  was  greater 
dance  room  and  a  consequent  greater  pleasure  in  dancing. 
These  last  dances  at  the  end  of  the  evening  were  enjoyed 
more  than  all  the  others.  But  the  party  was  breaking 
up  fast:  Turner  had  already  gone  home;  Mrs.  Vance  and 
Henrietta  were  back  at  their  places  in  front  of  the  mantel, 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  gentlemen  in  cape-coats  and 
ladies  in  opera  wraps.  Every  one  was  crying  "  Good-bye" 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  197 

or  "Good  night!"  and  assuring  Mrs.  Vance  and  Henrietta 
of  the  enjoy ableness  of  the  occasion.  Suddenly  the  musi 
cians  played  "Home  Sweet  Home."  Those  still  dancing 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  regret,  but  continued  waltzing 
to  this  air  the  same  as  ever.  Some  began  to  dance  again 
in  their  overcoats  and  opera  wraps.  Then  at  last  the  tired 
musicians  stopped  and  reached  for  the  cases  of  their  in 
struments,  and  the  remaining  guests,  seized  with  a  sudden 
panic  lest  they  should  be  the  last  to  leave,  fled  to  the  dress 
ing-rooms.  These  were  in  the  greatest  confusion,  every 
one  was  in  a  hurry;  in  the  gentlemen's  dressing-room  there 
was  a  great  putting  on  of  coats  and  mufflers  and  a  search 
ing  for  misplaced  gloves,  hats  and  canes  A  base  hum  of 
talk  rose  in  the  air,  bits  and  ends  of  conversation  being 
tossed  back  and  forth  across  the  room.  "  You  haven't 
seen  my  hat,  have  you,  Jimmy?"  *  Did  you  meet  that 
girl  I  was  telling  you  about?"  "Hello,  old  man!  have  a 
good  time  to-night?"  "Lost  your  hat?  No,  I  haven't 
seen  it."  "Yes,  about  half-past  ten!"  "Well,  I  told  him 
that  myself!"  "Ah,  you  bet  it's  the  man  that  rustles 
that  gets  there."  "Come  round  about  four,  then." 
"What's  the  matter  with  coming  home  in  our  carriage?" 
At  the  doors  of  the  dressing-rooms  the  ladies  joined 
their  escorts,  and  a  great  crowd  formed  in  the  halls,  worm 
ing  down  the  stairs  and  out  upon  the  front  steps.  As  the 
first  groups  reached  the  open  air  there  was  a  great  cry: 
"Why,  it's  pouring  rain!"  This  was  taken  up  and 
repeated  and  carried  all  the  way  back  into  the  house. 
There  were  exclamations  of  dismay  and  annoyance: 
"Why,  it's  raining  right  downl"  "What  shall  we  do!" 
Tempers  were  lost,  brothers  and  sisters  quarrelling  with 


198  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

each  other  over  the  question  of  umbrellas.  "Ah,**  said 
Geary,  delighted,  peeling  the  cover  from  his  umbrella  in 
the  vestibule,  "I  thought  it  was  going  to  rain  before  I 
left  and  brought  mine  along  with  me.  Ah,  you  bet  I 
always  look  out  for  rain!'*  On  the  horse-block  stood  the 
caller,  chanting  up  the  carriages  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
The  street  was  full  of  coupes,  carriages,  and  hacks,  the 
raindrops  showing  in  a  golden  blur  as  they  fell  across  the 
streaming  light  of  their  lamps.  The  horses  were  smoking 
and  restless,  and  the  drivers  in  oilskins  and  rubber  blank 
ets  were  wrangling  and  shouting.  At  every  instant  there 
was  a  long  roll  of  wheels  interrupted  by  the  banging  of  the 
doors.  Near  the  caller  stood  a  useless  policeman,  his 
shield  pinned  on  the  outside  of  his  wet  rubber  coat,  on 
which  the  carriage  lamps  were  momentarily  reflected  in 
long  vertical  streaks. 

In  a  short  time  all  the  guests  were  gone  except  the  one 
young  lady  whose  maid  and  carriage  had  somehow  not 
been  sent.  Henrietta  Vance's  brother  took  this  one  home 
in  a  hired  hack.  Mrs.  Vance  and  Henrietta  sat  down  to 
rest  for  a  moment  in  the  empty  parlours.  The  canvas- 
covered  floors  were  littered  with  leaves  of  smilax  and  La 
France  roses,  with  bits  of  ribbon,  ends  of  lace,  and  dis 
carded  Phrygian  bonnets  of  tissue  paper.  The  butlei 
and  the  second  girl  were  already  turning  down  the  gas 
in  the  other  rooms. 

Long  before  the  party  broke  up  Vandover  had  gone 
home,  stunned  and  dazed,  as  yet  hardly  able  to  realize 
the  meaning  of  what  had  happened.  Some  strange  and 
dreadful  change  had  taken  place;  things  were  different, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  199 

people  were  different  to  him;  not  every  one  had  been  so 
outspoken  as  Turner,  Henrietta  Vance  and  her  mother, 
but  even  amongst  others  who  had  talked  to  him  politely 
and  courteously  enough,  tihe  change  was  no  less  apparent. 
It  was  in  the  air,  a  certain  vague  shrinking  and  turning 
of  the  shoulder,  a  general  atmosphere  of  aversion  and 
repulsion,  an  unseen  frown,  an  unexpressed  rebuff,  intan 
gible,  illusive,  but  as  unmistakable  as  his  own  existence. 
The  world  he  had  known  knew  him  now  no  longer.  It  was 
ostracism  at  last. 

But  why?  Why?  Sitting  over  his  tiled  flamboyant 
stove,  brooding  into  the  winking  coals,  Vandover  asked 
himself  the  question  in  vain.  He  knew  what  latitude 
young  men  were  allowed  by  society;  he  was  sure  nothing 
short  of  discovered  crime  could  affect  them.  True  enough 
he  had  at  one  time  allowed  himself  to  drift  into  consid 
erable  dissipation,  but  he  was  done  with  that  now,  he  had 
reformed,  he  had  turned  over  a  new  leaf.  Even  at  his 
worst  he  had  only  lived  the  life  of  the  other  young  men 
around  him,  the  other  young  men  who  were  received  as 
much  as  ever,  even  though  people,  the  girls  themselves, 
practically  knew  of  what  they  did,  knew  that  they  were 
often  drunk,  and  that  they  frequented  the  society  of  aban 
doned  women.  What  had  he  done  to  merit  this  casting 
off?  What  could  he  have  done?  He  even  went  so  far  as 
to  wonder  if  there  was  anything  wrong  about  his  father 
or  his  sudden  death. 

A  little  after  one  o'clock  he  heard  Geary's  whistle  in 
the  street  outside.  "Hello,  old  man!"  he  cried  as  Van 
dover  opened  the  window.  "I  was  just  on  my  way  home 
from  the  hoe-down;  saw  a  light  in  your  window  and 


200  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

thought  I'd  call  you  up.  Say,  have  you  got  anything  wet 
up  there?  I'm  extra  dry." 

"Yes,"  said  Vandover,  "come  on  up!" 

"Did  you  hear  what  Beale  said  to  me  this  evening?" 
said  Geary,  as  he  mixed  himself  a  cocktail  at  the  sideboard. 
"Oh,  I  tell  you,  I'm  getting  right  in,  down  at  that  office. 
Beale  wants  me  to  take  the  place  of  one  of  the  assistants 
in  the  firm,  a  fellow  who's  got  the  consumption,  coughing 
up  his  lungs  all  the  time.  It's  an  important  place,  hun 
dred  a  month;  that's  right.  Yes,  sir;  you  bet,  I'm  going 
to  get  in  and  rustle  now  and  make  myself  so  indispensable 
in  that  fellow's  place  that  they  can't  get  along  without  me. 
I'll  crowd  him  right  out;  I  know  it  may  be  selfish,  but, 
damn  it!  that's  what  you  have  to  do  to  get  along.  It's 
human  nature.  I'll  tell  you  right  here  to-night,"  he  ex 
claimed  with  sudden  energy,  clenching  his  fist  and  slowly 
rapping  the  knuckles  on  the  table  to  emphasize  each  word, 
"that  I'll  be  the  head  of  that  firm  some  day,  or  I'll  know 
the  reason  why." 

When  Geary  finally  became  silent,  the  two  looked  into 
the  fire  for  some  time  without  speaking.  At  last  Geary 
said: 

"You  came  home  early  to-night,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Vandover,  stirring  uneasily.  "Yes, 
I  did." 

There  was  another  silence.  Then  Geary  said  abruptly : 
"It's  too  bad.  They  are  kind  of  stinky-pinky  to  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Vandover  with  a  grin.  "/  don't  know 
what's  the  matter.  Everybody  seems  nasty ! " 

"It's  that  business  with  Ida  Wade,  you  know,"  replied 
Geary.  "It  got  around  somehow  that  she  killed  herself 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  201 

on  your  account.  Everybody  seems  to  be  on  to  it.  I 
heard  it  —  oh,  nearly  a  month  ago." 

"Oh,"  said  Vandover  with  a  short  laugh,  "that's  it,  is 
it?  I  was  wondering." 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  answered  Geary.  "You  see  they 
don't  know  for  sure;  no  one  knows,  but  all  at  once  every 
one  seemed  to  be  talking  about  it,  and  they  suspect  an 
awful  lot.  I  guess  they  are  pretty  near  right,  aren't 
they?"  He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  laughed 
clumsily  and  went  on:  "You  see,  you  always  have  to  be 
awfully  careful  in  those  things,  or  you'll  get  into  a  box. 
Ah,  you  bet  I  don't  let  any  girl  I  go  with  know  my  last 
name  or  my  address  if  I  can  help  it.  I'm  clever  enough 
for  that;  you  have  to  manage  very  carefully;  ah,  you  bet! 
You  ought  to  have  looked  out  for  that,  old  man!"  He 
paused  a  moment  and  then  went  on:  "Oh,  I  guess  it  will 
be  all  right,  all  right,  in  a  little  while.  They  will  forget 
about  it,  you  know.  I  wouldn't  worry.  I  guess  it  will 
be  all  right." 

"Yes,"  answered  Vandover  absently,  "I  guess  so  —  per 
haps." 

A  few  days  later  Vandover  was  in  the  reading-room  of 
the  Mechanics  Library,  listlessly  turning  over  the  pages 
of  a  volume  of  V Art.  It  was  Saturday  morning  and  the 
place  was  full  of  ladies  who  were  downtown  for  their  shop 
ping  and  marketing,  and  who  had  come  in  either  to  change 
their  books  or  to  keep  appointments  with  each  other.  On 
a  sudden  Vandover  saw  Turner  just  passing  into  the 
Biography  alcove.  He  got  up  and  followed  her.  She 
was  standing  at  the  end  of  the  dim  book-lined  tunnel, 
searching  the  upper  shelves,  her  head  and  throat  bent  back, 


202  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

and  her  gloved  finger  on  her  lip.  The  faint  odour  of  the 
perfume  she  always  affected  came  to  him  mingled  with 
the  fragrance  of  the  jonquils  at  her  belt  and  the  smell  of 
leather  and  of  books  that  exhaled  from  the  shelves  on 
either  side.  He  did  not  offer  to  take  her  hand,  but  came 
up  slowly,  speaking  in  a  low  voice. 

It  was  the  last  time  that  Vandover  ever  met  Turner 
Ravis.  They  talked  for  upward  of  an  hour,  leaning 
against  the  opposite  book-shelves,  Vandover  with  his 
fists  in  his  pockets,  his  head  bent  down,  and  the  point  of 
his  shoe  tracing  the  pattern  in  the  linoleum  carpet;  Turner, 
her  hands  clasped  in  front  of  her,  looking  him  squarely 
in  the  face,  speaking  calmly  and  frankly. 

"Now,  I  hope  you  see  just  how  it  is,  Van,"  she  said  at 
length.  "What  has  happened  hasn't  made  me  cease  to 
care  for  you,  because  if  I  had  really  cared  for  you  the  way 
I  thought  I  did,  the  way  a  girl  ought  to  care  for  the  man 
she  wants  to  marry,  I  would  have  stood  by  you  through 
everything,  no  matter  what  you  did.  I  don't  do  so  now, 
because  I  find  I  don't  care  for  you  as  much  as  I  thought 
I  did.  What  has  happened  has  only  shown  me  that.  I'm 
sorry,  oh,  so  sorry  to  be  disappointed  in  you,  but  it's  be 
cause  I  only  think  of  you  as  being  once  a  very  good  friend 
of  mine,  not  because  I  love  you  as  you  think  I  did.  Once 
—  a  long  time  ago  —  when  we  first  knew  each  other,  then, 
perhaps  —  things  were  different  then.  But  somehow  we 
seem  to  have  grown  away  from  that.  Since  then  we  have 
both  been  mistaken;  you  thought  I  cared  for  you  in  that 
way,  and  I  thought  so,  too,  and  I  thought  you  cared  for 
me;  but  it  was  only  that  we  were  keeping  up  appearances, 
pretending  to  ourselves  just  for  the  sake  of  old  times. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  203 

We  don't  love  each  other  now;  you  know  it.  But  I  have 
never  intentionally  deceived  you  or  tried  to  lead  you  on; 
when  I  told  you  I  cared  for  you  I  really  thought  I  did.  I 
meant  to  be  sincere;  I  always  thought  so  until  this  hap 
pened,  and  then  when  I  saw  how  easily  I  could  let  you  go, 
it  only  proved  to  me  that  I  did  not  care  for  you  as  I 
thought  I  did.  It  was  wrong  of  me,  I  know,  and  I  should 
have  known  my  own  mind  before,  but  I  didn't,  I  didn't. 
Yo'u  talk  about  Dolly  Haight;  but  it  is  not  Dolly  Haight 
at  all  who  has  changed  my  affection  for  you.  I  will  be  just 
as  frank  as  I  can  with  you,  Van.  I  may  learn  really  to 
love  Dolly  Haight;  I  don't  know,  I  think  perhaps  I  will, 
but  it  isn't  that  I  care  for  him  just  because  I  don't  care  for 
you.  Can't  you  see,  it's  just  as  if  I  had  never  met  you. 
You  know  it's  very  hard  for  me  to  say  this  to  you,  Van, 
and  I  suppose  it's  all  mixed  up,  but  I  can't  help  it.  You 
don't  know  how  sorry  I  am,  because  we  have  been  such 
old  friends  —  because  I  really  did  care  for  you  as  a  friend; 
it's  a  proof  of  it,  that  there  is  no  other  man  in  the  world 
I  could  talk  to  like  this.  I  think,  too,  Van,  that  was  the 
only  way  you  cared  for  me,  just  as  a  good  friend  —  except 
perhaps  at  first,  when  we  first  knew  each  other.  You 
know  yourself  that  is  so.  We  really  haven't  loved  each 
other  at  all  for  a  long  time,  and  now  we  have  found  it  out 
before  it  was  too  late.  And  even  if  everything  were  differ 
ent,  Van,  don't  you  know  how  it  is  with  girls?  They 
really  love  the  man  who  loves  them  the  most.  Half  the 
time  they're  just  in  love  with  being  loved.  That's  the 
way  most  girls  love  nowadays,  and  you  know  yourself, 
Van,  that  Dolly  Haight  really  loves  me  more  than  you  do." 
She  gathered  up  her  books  and  went  on  after  a  pause, 


204  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

straightening  up,  ready  to  go:  "If  I  should  let  myself  think 
of  what  you  have  done,  I  feel  —  as  if  —  as  if  —  why, 
dreadful — I  —  that  I  should  hate  you,  loathe  you;  but  I  try 
not  to  do  that.  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  over  since  the 
other  night.  I  shall  always  try  to  think  of  you  at  your 
best;  I  have  tried  to  forget  everything  else,  and  in  for 
getting  it  I  forgive  you.  I  can  honestly  say  that,"  she 
said,  holding  out  her  hand,  "I  forgive  you,  and  you  must 
forgive  me  because  once,  by  deceiving  myself,  I  deceived 
you,  and  made  you  think  that  I  cared  for  you  in  that  way 
when  I  didn't."  As  their  hands  fell  apart  Turner  faced 
him  and  added,  with  tears  in  her  eyes:  "You  know  this 
must  be  good-bye  for  good.  You  don't  know  how  it 
hurts  me  to  tell  you.  I  know  it  looks  as  if  I  were  deserting 
you  when  you  were  alone  in  the  world  and  had  most  need 
of  some  one  to  influence  you  for  the  good.  But,  Van, 
won't  you  be  better  now?  Won't  you  break  from  it  all 
and  be  your  own  self  again?  I  have  faith  in  you.  I 
believe  it's  in  you  to  become  a  great  man  and  a  good 
man.  It  isn't  too  late  to  begin  all  over  again.  Just  be 
your  better  self;  live  up  to  the  best  that's  in  you;  if  not 
for  your  own  sake,  then  for  the  sake  of  that  other  girl 
that's  coming  into  your  life  some  time;  that  other  girl 
who  is  good  and  sweet  and  pure,  whom  you  will  really, 
really  love  and  who  will  really,  really  love  you." 

All  the  rest  of  that  month  Vandover  was  wretched. 
So  great  was  his  shame  and  humiliation  over  this  fresh 
disaster  that  he  hardly  dared  to  show  himself  out  of  doors. 
His  grief  was  genuine  and  it  was  profound.  Yet  he  took 
his  punishment  in  the  right  spirit.  He  did  not  blame  any 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  205 

one  but  himself;  it  was  only  a  just  retribution  for  the 
thing  he  had  done.  Only  what  made  it  hard  to  bear  was 
the  fact  that  the  chastisement  had  fallen  upon  him  long 
after  he  had  repented  of  the  crime,  long  after  he  had 
resolved  to  lead  a  new  and  upright  life;  but  with  shut 
teeth  he  determined  still  to  carry  out  that  resolve;  he  would 
devote  all  his  future  life  to  living  down  the  past.  It  might 
be  hard;  it  might  be  one  long  struggle  through  many, 
many  years,  but  he  would  do  it.  Ah,  yes,  he  would  show 
them;  they  had  cast  him  off,  but  he  would  go  away  to 
Paris  now  as  he  had  always  intended.  As  invariably 
happened  when  he  was  deeply  moved,  he  turned  to  his 
art,  blindly  and  instinctively.  He  would  go  to  Paris  now 
and  study  his  paintings,  five,  ten  years,  and  come  back  at 
last  a  great  artist,  when  these  same  people  who  had  cast 
him  off  would  be  proud  to  receive  him.  Turner  was  right 
in  saying  that  he  had  in  him  the  making  of  a  great  man. 
He  knew  that  she  was  right;  knew  that  if  he  only  gave  the 
better  part  of  him,  the  other  Vandover,  the  chance,  that 
he  would  become  a  great  artist.  Well,  he  would  do  so,  and 
then  when  he  came  back  again,  when  all  the  world  was  at 
his  feet,  and  there  were  long  articles  in  the  paper  announc 
ing  his  arrival,  these  people  would  throng  around  him;  he 
would  show  them  what  a  great  and  noble  nature  he  really 
had;  he  would  forgive  them;  he  would  ignore  what  they 
had  done.  He  even  dramatized  a  little  scene  between 
himself  and  Turner,  then  Mrs.  Haight.  They  would 
both  be  pretty  old  then  and  he  would  take  her  children 
on  his  lap  and  look  at  her  over  their  heads  —  he  could 
almost  see  those  heads,  white,  silky  and  very  soft  —  and 
he  would  nod  at  her  thoughtfully,  and  say,  "Well,  I  have 


206  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

taken  your  advice,  do  you  remember?"  and  she  was  to 
answer,  "Yes,  I  remember."  There  were  actually  tears 
in  his  eyes  as  he  saw  the  scene. 

At  the  very  first  he  thought  that  he  could  not  live  with 
out  Turner;  that  he  loved  her  too  much  to  be  able  to  give 
her  up.  But  in  a  little  while  he  saw  that  this  was  not  so. 
She  was  right,  too,  in  saying  that  he  had  long  since  out 
lived  his  first  sincere  affection  for  her.  He  had  felt  for  a 
long  time  that  he  did  not  love  her  well  enough  to  marry 
her;  that  he  did  not  love  her  as  young  Haight  did,  and  he 
acknowledged  to  himself  that  this  affair  at  least  had  ended 
rightly.  The  two  loved  each  other,  he  could  see  that; 
at  last  he  even  told  himself  that  he  would  be  glad  to  see 
Turner  married  to  Dolly  Haight,  who  was  his  best  friend. 
But  for  all  that,  it  came  very  hard  at  first  to  give  up 
Turner  altogether;  never  to  see  her  or  speak  to  her  again. 

As  the  first  impressions  of  the  whole  affair  grew  dull 
and  blunt  by  the  lapse  of  time,  this  humble  peniten 
tial  mood  of  Vandover's  passed  away  and  was  succeeded 
by  a  feeling  of  gloomy  revolt,  a  sullen  rage  at  the  world 
that  had  cast  him  off  only  because  he  had  been  found  out. 
He  thought  it  a  matter  of  self-respect  to  resent  the  insult 
they  had  put  upon  him.  But  little  by  little  he  ceased  to 
regret  his  exile;  the  new  life  was  not  so  bad  as  he  had  at 
first  anticipated,  and  his  relations  with  the  men  whom  he 
knew  best,  Ellis,  Geary,  and  young  Haight,  were  in  nowise 
changed.  He  was  no  longer  invited  anywhere,  and  the 
girls  he  had  known  never  saw  him  when  he  passed  them 
on  the  street.  It  was  humiliating  enough  at  first,  but  he 
got  used  to  it  after  a  while,  and  by  dint  of  thrusting  the 
disagreeable  subject  from  his  thoughts,  by  refusing  to  let 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  207 

the  disgrace  sink  deep  in  his  mind,  by  forgetting  the  whole 
business  as  much  as  he  could,  he  arrived  after  a  time  to  be 
passably  contented.  His  pliable  character  had  again  re 
arranged  itself  to  suit  the  new  environment. 

Along  with  this,  however,  came  a  sense  of  freedom. 
Now  he  no  longer  had  anything  to  fear  from  society;  it 
had  shot  its  bolt,  it  had  done  its  worst,  there  was  no  longer 
anything  to  restrain  him,  now  he  could  do  anything. 

He  was  in  precisely  this  state  of  mind  when  he  received 
the  cards  for  the  opening  of  the  roadhouse,  the  "resort" 
out  on  the  Almshouse  drive,  about  which  Toby,  the  waiter 
at  the  Imperial,  had  spoken  to  him. 

Vaiidover  attended  it.  It  was  a  debauch  of  forty-eight 
hours,  the  longest  and  the  worst  he  had  ever  indulged  in. 
For  a  long  time  the  brute  had  been  numb  and  dormant; 
now  at  last  when  he  woke  he  was  raging,  more  insatiable, 
more  irresistible  than  ever. 

The  affair  at  the  roadhouse  was  but  the  beginning. 
All  at  once  Vandover  rushed  into  a  career  of  dissipation, 
consumed  with  the  desire  of  vice,  the  perverse,  blind,  and 
reckless  desire  of  the  male.  Drunkenness,  sensuality,  gam 
bling,  debauchery,  he  knew  them  all.  He  rubbed  elbows 
with  street  walkers,  with  bookmakers,  with  saloonkeepers, 
with  the  exploiters  of  lost  women.  The  bartenders 
of  the  city  called  him  by  his  first  name,  the  police 
men,  the  night  detail,  were  familiar  with  his  face,  the 
drivers  of  the  nighthawks  recognized  his  figure  by  the 
street  lamps,  paling  in  the  light  of  many  an  early  dawn. 
At  one  time  and  another  he  was  associated  with  all  the 
different  types  of  people  in  the  low  "sporting  set,"  ac 
quaintances  of  an  evening,  whose  names  grew  faint  to 


208  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

his  recollection  amidst  the  jingle  of  glasses  and  the  pop 
ping  of  corks,  whose  faces  faded  from  his  memory  in  the 
haze  of  tobacco  smoke  and  the  fumes  of  whisky;  young 
men  of  the  city,  rich  without  apparent  means  of  livelihood, 
women  and  girls  "recently  from  the  East"  with  rooms 
over  the  fast  restaurants;  owners  of  trotting  horses, 
actresses  without  engagements,  billiard-markers,  pool- 
sellers  and  the  sons  of  the  proprietors  of  halfway  houses 
and  "resorts."  With  all  these  Vandover  kept  the  pace  at 
the  Imperial,  at  the  race-track,  at  the  gambling  tables  in 
the  saloons  and  bars  along  Kearney  and  Market  streets, 
and  in  the  disreputable  houses  amid  the  strong  odours  of 
musk  and  the  rustle  of  heavy  silk  dresses.  It  lasted  for  a 
year;  by  the  end  of  that  time  he  had  about  forgotten  his 
determination  to  go  to  Paris  and  had  grown  out  of  touch 
with  his  three  old  friends,  Ellis,  Geary,  and  Haight.  He 
seldom  saw  them  now;  occasionally  he  met  them  in  one 
of  the  little  rooms  of  the  Imperial  over  their  beer  and 
Welsh  rabbits,  but  now  he  always  went  on  to  the  larger 
rooms  where  one  had  champagne  and  terrapin.  He  felt 
that  he  no  longer  was  one  of  them. 

That  year  the  opera  came  to  San  Francisco,  and  Van 
dover  hired  a  messenger  boy  to  stand  in  line  all  night  at 
the  door  of  the  music  store  where  the  tickets  were  to  be 
sold.  Vandover  could  still  love  music.  In  the  wreckage 
of  all  that  was  good  that  had  been  going  on  in  him  his  love 
for  all  art  was  yet  intact.  It  was  the  strongest  side  of  his 
nature  and  it  would  be  the  last  to  go. 

"m 


frV* 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

THE  house  was  crowded  to  the  doors;  there  was  no 
longer  any  standing  room  and  many  were  even  sitting 
on  the  steps  of  the  aisles.  In  the  boxes  the  gentlemen 
were  standing  up  behind  the  chairs  of  large  plain  ladies 
in  showy  toilets  and  diamonds.  The  atmosphere  was 
heavy  with  the  smell  of  gas,  of  plush  upholstery,  of  wilting 
bouquets  and  of  sachet.  A  fine  vapour  as  of  the  visible 
exhalation  of  many  breaths  pervaded  the  house,  blurring 
the  lowered  lights  and  dimming  the  splendour  of  the  great 
glass  chandelier. 

It  was  warm  to  suffocation,  a  dry,  irritating  warmth 
that  perspiration  did  not  relieve,  while  the  air  itself  wTas 
stale  and  close  as  though  fouled  by  being  breathed  over 
and  over  again.  In  the  topmost  galleries,  banked  with 
tiers  of  watching  faces,  the  heat  must  have  been  unbear 
able. 

The  only  movement  perceptible  throughout  the  audi 
ence  was  the  little  swaying  of  gay-coloured  fans  like 
the  balancing  of  butterflies  about  to  light.  Occasionally 
there  would  be  a  vast  rustling  like  the  sound  of  wind  in  a 
forest,  as  the  holders  of  librettos  turned  the  leaves  sim 
ultaneously. 

The  orchestra  thundered;  the  French  horns  snarling, 
the  first  violins  wailing  in  unison,  while  all  the  bows  went 
up  and  down  together  like  parts  of  a  well-regulated  ma- 

209 

JV 


210  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

chine;  the  kettle-drums  rolled  sonorously  at  exact  intervals, 
and  now  and  then  one  heard  the  tinkling  of  the  harp  like 
the  pattering  of  raindrops  between  peals  of  thunder. 
The  leader  swayed  from  side  to  side  in  his  place,  beating 
time  with  his  baton,  his  hand,  and  his  head. 

On  the  stage  itself  the  act  was  drawing  to  a  close. 
There  had  just  been  a  duel.  The  baritone  lay  stretched 
upon  the  floor  at  left  centre,  his  sword  fallen  at  some 
paces  from  him.  On  the  left  of  the  scene,  front,  stood  the 
tenor  who  had  killed  him,  singing  in  his  highest  register, 
very  red  in  the  face,  continually  striking  his  hand  upon 
his  breast  and  pointing  with  his  sword  toward  his  fallen 
enemy.  Next  him  on  the  extreme  left  was  his  friend  the 
basso,  in  high  leather  boots,  growling  from  time  to  time 
during  a  sustained  chord,  "  Mon  honneur  et  ma  foi."  In 
the  centre  of  the  stage,  the  soprano,  the  star,  the  prima 
donna  chanted  a  fervid  but  ineffectual  appeal  to  the  tenor 
who  cried,  "Jamais,  jamais!"  striking  his  breast  and 
pointing  with  his  sword.  The  prima  donna  cried,  "  Ah,  mon 
Dieu,  ayez  pitie  de  moi."  Her  confidante,  the  mezzo- 
soprano,  came  to  her  support,  repeating  her  words  with 
an  impersonal  meaning,  "Ayez  pitie  d'elle."  "Mon 
honneur  et  ma  foi,"  growled  the  basso.  The  contralto, 
dressed  as  a  man,  turned  toward  the  audience  on  the 
extreme  right,  bringing  out  her  notes  with  a  wrench  and 
a  twist  of  her  body  and  neck,  and  intoning,  "Ah,  mal- 
heureuse!  Mon  Dieu,  ayez  pitie  d'elle" 

The  leader  of  the  chorus,  costumed  as  the  captain  of  the 
watch,  leaned  over  the  dead  baritone  and  sang,  "II  est 
XJP)  mort,  il  est  mort.     Mon  Dieu,  ayez  pitie  de  Zm."  /  The  sol 
diers  of  the  watch  were  huddled  together  immediately 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  211 

back  of  him.  They  wore  tin  helmets,  much  too  large, 
and  green  peplums,  and  repeated  his  words  continually. 

The  chorus  itself  was  made  up  of  citizens  of  the  town; 
it  was  in  a  semicircle  at  the  back  of  the  stage  —  the  men 
on  one  side,  the  women  on  the  other.  They  made  all 
their  gestures  together  and  chanted  without  ceasing: 
"  0  horreur,  0  mystere!  II  est  mort.  Mon  Dieu,  ayez  pitie 
denous!" 

"  De  Grace! "  cried  the  prima  donna. 

"Jamais,  jamais!"  echoed  the  tenor,  striking  his  breast 
and  pointing  with  his  sword. 

"0  mystere!"  chanted  the  chorus,  while  the  basso  struck 
his  hand  upon  his  sword  hilt,  growling  "Mon  honneur  et 
ma  foi" 

The  orchestra  redoubled.  The  finale  began;  all  the 
pieces  of  the  orchestra,  all  the  voices  on  the  stage,  com 
menced  over  again  very  loud.  They  all  took  a  step 
forward,  and  the  rhythm  became  more  rapid,  till  it 
reached  a  climax  where  the  prima  donna's  voice  jumped  to 
a  C  in  alt,  holding  it  long  enough  for  the  basso  to  thunder, 
"Mon  honneur  et  ma  foi"  twice.  Then  they  all  struck 
the  attitudes  for  the  closing  tableau  and  in  one  last  burst 
of  music  sang  all  together,  "Mon  Dieu,  ayez  pitie  de  moi" 
and  "de  lui"  and  "d'elle"  and  "de  nous:'  Then  the 
orchestra  closed  with  a  long  roll  of  the  kettle-drums,  and 
the  prima  donna  fainted  into  the  arms  of  her  confidante. 
The  curtain  fell. 

There  was  a  roar  of  applause.  The  gallery  whistled 
and  stamped.  Every  one  relaxed  his  or  her  position, 
drawing  a  long  breath,  looking  about.  There  was  a 
general  stir;  the  lights  in  the  great  glass  chandelier  clicked 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

and  blazed  up,  and  a  murmur  of  conversation  arose.  The 
footlights  were  lowered  and  the  orchestra  left  their  places 
and  disappeared  underneath  the  stage,  leaving  the  audi 
ence  with  the  conviction  that  they  had  gone  out  after 
beer.  All  over  the  house  one  heard  the  shrill  voices  of 
boys  crying  out,  "Op'ra  books  —  books  for  the  op'ra  — 
words  and  music  for  the  op'ra." 

Throughout  the  boxes  a  great  coming  and  going  took 
place  and  an  interchange  of  visits.  The  gentlemen  out 
in  the  foyer  stood  about  conversing  in  groups  or  walked 
up  and  down  smoking  cigarettes,  often  pausing  in  front 
of  the  big  floral  piece  that  was  to  be  given  to  the  prima 
donna  at  the  end  of  the  great  scene  in  the  fourth  act. 

There  was  a  little  titter  of  an  electric  bell.  The  curtain 
was  about  to  go  up,  and  a  great  rush  for  seats  began.  The 
orchestra  were  coming  back  and  tuning  up.  They  sent 
up  a  prolonged  medley  of  sounds,  little  minor  chirps  and 
cries  from  the  violins,  liquid  runs  and  mellow  gurgles 
from  the  oboes,  flutes,  and  wood- wind  instruments,  and  an 
occasional  deep-toned  purring  from  the  bass  viols.  A 
bell  rang  faintly  from  behind  the  wings,  the  house  lights 
sank,  and  the  footlights  blazed  up.  The  leader  tapped  with 
his  baton;  a  great  silence  fell  upon  the  house,  while  here 
and  there  one  heard  an  energetic  "Ssh!  ssh!"  The  fourth 
act  was  about  to  begin. 

When  the  curtain  rose  on  the  fourth  act  one  saw  the 
prima  donna  standing  in  a  very  dejected  pose  in  the  midst 
of  a  vast  apartment  that  might  have  been  a  bedchamber, 
a  council  hall,  or  a  hall  of  audience.  She  was  alone.  She 
wore  a  loose  cream-coloured  gown  knotted  about  the 
waist;  her  arms  were  bare,  and  her  hair  unbound  and  flow- 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  213 

ing  loose  over  her  shoulders  to  her  girdle.  She  was  to  die 
in  this  act;  it  promised  to  be  harrowing;  and  the  first  few 
notes  she  uttered  recurred  again  later  on  as  the  motif  for 
the  famous  quartet  in  the  "great  scene." 

But  for  all  this,  the  music  had  little  by  little  taken  pos 
session  of  Vandover,  and  little  by  little  he  had  forgotten  his 
surroundings,  the  stifling  air  of  the  house,  the  blinding 
glitter  of  the  stage  and  the  discomfort  of  his  limbs  cramped 
into  the  narrow  orchestra  chair.  All  music  was  music  to 
him;  he  loved  it  with  an  unreasoned,  uncritical  love,  en 
joying  even  the  barrel  organs  and  hand  pianos  of  the 
streets.  For  the  present  the  slow  beat  and  cadence  of  the 
melodies  of  the  opera  had  cradled  all  his  senses,  carrying 
him  away  into  a  kind  of  exalted  dream.  The  quartet 
began;  for  him  it  was  wonderfully  sweet,  the  long-sus 
tained  chords  breathing  over  the  subdued  orchestral 
accompaniment,  like  some  sweet  south  wind  passing  in 
long  sighs  over  the  pulse  of  a  great  ocean.  It  seemed  to 
him  infinitely  beautiful,  infinitely  sad,  subdued  minor 
plaints  recurring  persistently  again  and  again  like  sighs 
of  parting,  but  could  not  be  restrained,  like  voices  of  regret 
for  the  things  that  were  never  to  be  again.  Or  it  was  a 
pathos,  a  joy  in  all  things  good,  a  vast  tenderness,  so 
sweet,  so  divinely  pure  that  it  could  not  be  framed  in 
words,  so  great  and  so  deep  that  it  found  its  only  expres 
sion  in  tears.  There  came  over  him  a  vague  sense  of 
those  things  which  are  too  beautiful  to  be  comprehended, 
of  a  nobility,  a  self-oblivion,  an  immortal  eternal  love  and 
kindness,  all  goodness,  all  benignity,  all  pity  for  sin,  all 
sorrow  for  grief,  all  joy  for  the  true,  the  right,  and  the  pure. 

To  be  better,  to  be  true  and  right  and  pure,  these  were 


214  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

the  only  things  that  were  worth  while,  these  were  the 
things  that  he  seemed  to  feel  in  the  music.  It  was  as  if 
for  the  moment  he  had  become  a  little  child  again,  not 
ashamed  to  be  innocent,  ignorant  of  vice,  still  believing 
in  all  his  illusions,  still  near  to  the  great  white  gates  of 
life. 

The  appeal  had  been  made  directly  to  what  was  best 
and  strongest  in  Vandover,  and  the  answer  was  quick  and 
overpowering.  All  the  good  that  still  survived  in  him 
leaped  to  life  again  in  an  instant,  clamouring  for  recogni 
tion,  pleading  for  existence.  The  other  Vandover,  the 
better  Vandover,  wrestled  with  the  brute  in  him  once 
more,  never  before  so  strong,  never  so  persistent.  He  had 
not  yet  destroyed  all  that  was  good  in  him;  now  it  had 
turned  in  one  more  revolt,  crying  out  against  him,  pro 
testing  for  the  last  time  against  its  own  perversion  and 
destruction.  Vandover  felt  that  he  was  at  the  great 
crisis  of  his  life. 

After  all  was  over  he  walked  home  through  the  silent 
streets,  proceeding  slowly,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
head  bent  down,  his  mind  very  busy.  Once  in  his  rooms 
he  threw  off  his  things  and,  having  stirred  up  the  drowsing 
fire  in  the  tiled  stove,  sat  down  before  it  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
the  bosom  of  his  full  dress  shirt  bulging  from  his  vest  and 
faintly  creaking  as  from  time  to  time  he  drew  a  long  breath. 
He  had  been  lured  into  a  mood  where  he  was  himself  at 
his  very  best,  where  the  other  Vandover,  the  better  Van 
dover,  drew  apart  with  eyes  turned  askance,  looking  in 
ward  and  downward  into  the  depths  of  his  own  character, 
shuddering,  terrified.  Far  down  there  in  the  darkest, 
lowest  places  he  had  seen  the  brute,  squat,  deformed, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  215 

hideous;  he  had  seen  it  crawling  to  and  fro  dimly,  through 
a  dark  shadow  he  had  heard  it  growling,  chafing  at  the 
least  restraint,  restless  to  be  free.  For  now  at  last  it  was 
huge,  strong,  insatiable,  swollen  and  distorted  out  of  all 
size,  grown  to  be  a  monster,  glutted  yet  still  ravenous, 
some  fearful  bestial  satyr,  grovelling,  perverse,  horrible 
beyond  words. 

And  with  the  eyes  of  this  better  self  he  saw  again,  little 
by  little,  the  course  of  his  whole  life,  and  witnessed  again 
the  eternal  struggle  between  good  and  evil  that  had  been 
going  on  within  him  since  his  very  earliest  years.  He  was 
sure  that  at  the  first  the  good  had  been  the  strongest. 
Little  by  little  the  brute  had  grown,  and  he,  pleasure- 
loving,  adapting  himself  to  every  change  of  environment, 
luxurious,  self-indulgent,  shrinking  with  the  shrinking  of 
a  sensuous  artist-nature  from  all  that  was  irksome  and 
disagreeable,  had  shut  his  ears  to  the  voices  that  shouted 
warnings  of  the  danger,  and  had  allowed  the  brute  to  thrive 
and  to  grow,  its  abominable  famine  gorged  from  the  store 
of  that  in  him  which  he  felt  to  be  the  purest,  the  cleanest, 
and  the  best,  its  bulk  fattened  upon  the  rot  and  the  decay 
of  all  that  was  good,  growing  larger  day  by  day,  noi- 
]  some,  swollen,  poddy,  a  filthy  inordinate  ghoul,  gorged  and 
!  bloated  by  feeding  on  the  good  things  that  were  dead. 

Besides  this  he  saw  how  one  by  one  he  had  wrenched 
:  himself  free  from  all  those  influences  that  had  tended  to 
|  foster  and  to  cultivate  all  the  better  part  of  him. 

First  of  all,  long  ago  it  seemed  now,  he  had  allowed  to  be 
destroyed  that  first  instinctive  purity,  that  fragile,  delicate 
innocence  which  dies  young  in  almost  every  human  being, 
and  thaf  one  sees  evaporating  under  the  earliest  taint  of 


216  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

vice  with  a  smile  partly  of  contempt,  partly  of  pity,  partly 
of  genuine  regret. 

Next  it  had  been  his  father.  The  Old  Gentleman  had 
exerted  a  great  influence  over  Vandover;  he  had  never 
forgotten  that  scene  the  morning  after  he  had  told  him  of 
his  measure  of  responsibility  in  Ida  Wade's  suicide,  the 
recovery  from  the  first  shock  of  dazed  bewilderment  and 
then  the  forgiveness,  the  solicitude  and  the  encouragement 
to  begin  over  again,  to  live  it  down  and  to  do  that  which 
was  right  and  good  and  true.  Not  only  had  he  stopped 
his  ears  to  this  voice,  but  also,  something  told  him,  he  had 
done  much  to  silence  it  forever.  Despite  the  Old  Gentle 
man's  apparent  fortitude  the  blow  must  have  carried 
home.  What  must  he  not  have  suffered  during  those 
long  weeks  while  Vandover  was  away,  what  lonely  brood- 
ings  in  the  empty  house;  and  then  the  news  of  the  wreck, 
the  days  of  suspense ! 

It  all  must  have  told;  the  Old  Gentleman  was  not 
strong;  Vandover  could  not  but  feel  that  he  had  hastened 
his  death,  and  that  in  so  doing  he  had  destroyed  another 
influence  which  would  have  cultivated  and  fostered  his 
better  self,  would  have  made  it  strong  against  the  attacks 
of  the  brute. 

The  other  person  who  had  helped  to  bring  out  all  that 
was  bes  t  in  Vandover  had  been  Turner  Ravis.  There  was 
no  denying  that  when  he  had  first  known  her  he  had  loved 
her  sincerely.  Things  were  vastly  different  with  him 
when  Turner  had  been  his  companion;  things  that  were 
unworthy,  that  were  low,  that  were  impure  and  vicious, 
did  not  seem  worth  while  then;  not  only  did  they  have  no 
attraction  for  him,  but  he  even  shunned  and  avoided  them. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  217 

He  knew  he  was  a  better  man  for  loving  her;  invariably 
she  made  him  wish  to  be  better.  But  little  by  little  as  he 
frequented  the  society  of  such  girls  as  Ida  Wade,  Grace 
Irving,  and  Flossie,  his  affection  for  Turner  faded.  As 
the  habits  of  passionate  and  unhealthy  excitement  grew 
upon  him  he  lost  first  the  taste  and  then  the  very  capacity 
for  a  calm,  pure  feeling.  His  affection  for  her  he  frittered 
away  with  fast  girls  and  abandoned  women,  strangled  it 
in  the  foul  musk-laden  air  of  disreputable  houses,  dragged 
and  defiled  it  in  the  wine-lees  of  the  Imperial.  In  the  end 
he  had  quite  destroyed  it,  wilfully,  wantonly  killed  it. 
As  Turner  herself  had  said,  she  could  only  be  in  love  with 
being  loved;  her  affection  for  him  had  dwindled  as  well; 
at  last  they  had  come  to  be  indifferent  to  each  other,  she 
no  longer  inspired  him  to  be  better,  and  thus  he  had  shaken 
off  this  good  influence  as  well. 

Public  opinion  had  been  a  great  check  upon  him,  the 
fear  of  scandal,  the  desire  to  stand  well  with  the  world  he 
knew.  Trivial  though  he  felt  it  to  be,  the  dread  of  what 
people  would  say  had  to  a  great  extent  held  Vandover 
back.  He  had  a  position  to  maintain,  a  reputation  to 
keep  up  in  the  parlours  and  at  the  dinner  tables  where  he 
was  received.  It  could  not  be  denied  that  society  had 
influenced  Vandover  for  good.  But  this,  too,  like  all  the 
others,  he  had  cast  from  him.  Now  he  was  ostracized, 
society  cared  no  longer  what  he  did,  his  position  was  gone, 
his  reputation  was  destroyed.  There  was  no  one  now 
to  stand  in  his  way. 

Vandover  could  not  fall  back  on  any  religious  influence. 
Religion  had  never  affected  him  very  deeply.  It  was 
true  that  he  had  been  baptized,  confirmed,  and  had  gone 


218  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

to  church  with  considerable  regularity.  If  he  had  been 
asked  if  he  was  a  Christian  and  believed  in  God  he  would 
have  answered  "Certainly,  certainly."  Until  the  time 
of  his  father's  death  he  had  even  said  his  prayers  every 
night,  the  last  thing  before  turning  out  the  gas,  sitting 
upon  the  edge  of  his  bed  in  his  night-gown,  his  head  in 
both  his  hands.  He  added  to  the  Lord's  Prayer  certain 
other  petitions  as  to  those  who  were  in  trouble,  sorrow, 
poverty,  or  any  other  privations;  he  asked  for  blessings 
upon  his  father  and  upon  himself,  praying  for  the  former's 
health  and  prosperity,  and  for  himself,  that  he  might  be 
come  a  great  artist,  that  the  "Last  Enemy"  might  be 
admitted  to  the  Salon  when  he  had  painted  it,  and  that 
it  might  make  him  famous.  But,  as  a  rule,  Vandover 
thought  very  little  about  religious  matters  and  when  he 
did,  told  himself  that  he  was  too  intelligent  to  believe  in  a 
literal  heaven,  a  literal  hell,  and  a  personal  God  personally 
interfering  in  human  affairs  like  any  Jove  or  Odin.  But 
the  moment  he  rejected  a  concrete  religion  Vandover  was 
almost  helpless.  He  was  not  mystic  enough  to  find  any 
meaning  in  signs  or  symbols,  nor  philosophic  enough  to 
grasp  vague  and  immense  abstractions.  Infinities,  Pres 
ences,  Forces,  could  not  help  aim  withstand  temptation, 
could  not  strengthen  him  against  the  brute.  He  felt  that 
somewhere,  some  time,  there  was  punishment  for  evildo- 
ing,  but,  as  happened  in  the  case  of  Ida  Wade's  death,  to 
dwell  on  such  thoughts  disturbed  and  terrified  him.  He 
did  not  dare  to  look  long  in  that  direction.  Conscience, 
remorse,  repentance,  all  these  had  been  keen  enough  at 
first,  but  he  had  so  persistently  kicked  against  the  pricks 
that  little  by  little  he  had  ceased  to  feel  them  at  all. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  219 

Then  an  immense  and  overwhelming  terror  seized  upon 
him.  Was  there  nothing,  then  —  nothing  left  which  he 
could  lay  hold  of  to  save  him?  He  knew  that  he  could 
not  deliver  himself  by  his  own  exertions.  Religion  could 
not  help  him,  he  had  killed  his  father,  estranged  the  girl 
he  might  have  loved,  outraged  the  world,  and  at  a  single 
breath  blighted  the  fine  innate  purity  of  his  early  years. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  entered  into  his  life  in  the  world  as  in 
to  some  vast  labyrinth,  wandering  on  aimlessly,  flinging 
from  him  one  by  one  the  threads,  the  clues,  that  might 
have  led  him  again  to  a  safe  exit,  going  down  deeper  and 
deeper  until,  when  near  the  centre,  he  had  suddenly  felt 
the  presence  of  the  brute,  had  heard  its  loathsome  mutter 
ing  growl,  had  at  last  seen  it  far  down  at  the  end  of  a 
passage,  dimly  and  in  a  dark  shadow;  terrified,  he  had 
started  back,  looking  wildly  about  for  any  avenue  of  escape, 
searching  with  frantic  haste  and  eagerness  for  any  one  of 
those  clues  he  had  so  carelessly  cast  from  him,  realizing  that 
without  such  guidance  he  would  inevitably  tend  down  again 
to  that  fatal  central  place  where  the  brute  had  its  lair. 

There  was  nothing,  nothing.  He  clearly  saw  the  fate 
toward  which  he  was  hur  ying;  it  was  not  too  late  to  save 
himself  if  he  only  could  find  help,  but  he  could  find  no  help. 
His  terror  increased  almost  to  hysteria.  It  was  one  of 
those  dreadful  moments  that  men  sometimes  undergo 
that  must  be  met  alone,  and  that  when  past,  remain  in 
the  memory  for  all  time;  a  glimpse  far  down  into  the 
springs  and  wheels  of  life;  a  glimpse  that  does  not  come 
often  lest  the  reason  brought  to  the  edge  of  the  fearful 
gulf  should  grow  dizzy  at  the  sight,  and  reeling,  topple 
headlong. 


220  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

But  suddenly  Vandover  rose  to  his  feet,  the  tears 
came  to  his  eyes,  and  with  a  long  breath  he  exclaimed: 
"Thank  God  for  it!"  He  grew  calmer  in  a  moment,  the 
crisis  had  passed,  he  had  found  a  clue  beneath  his  groping 
fingers. 

He  had  remembered  his  art,  turning  to  it  instinctively 
as  he  always  did  when  greatly  moved.  This  was  the  one 
good  thing  that  yet  survived.  It  was  the  strongest  side 
of  him;  it  would  be  the  last  to  go;  he  felt  it  there  yet.  It 
was  the  one  thing  that  could  save  him. 

The  thought  had  come  to  him  so  suddenly  and  with 
such  marvellous  clearness  that  in  his  present  exalted  state 
of  mind  it  filled  him  with  a  vague  sense  of  awe,  it  seemed 
like  a  manifestation,  a  writing  on  the  wall.  Might  it  not 
be  some  sort  of  miracle?  He  had  heard  of  men  reforming 
their  lives,  transformed  almost  in  an  instant,  and  had 
scoffed  at  the  idea.  But  might  it  not  be  true,  after  all? 
What  was  this  wonderful  thing  that  had  happened  to  him? 
Was  this  less  strange  than  a  miracle  ?  Less  divine  ? 

The  following  day  Vandover  rented  a  studio.  It  was 
the  lofty  room  with  hardwood  floors  and  the  immense 
north  light  in  that  suite  which  he  had  rejected  when  look 
ing  for  rooms  on  the  former  occasion.  He  gave  notice  to 
the  clerk  in  the  apartment  house  where  his  quarters  were 
situated  that  he  intended  to  vacate  after  the  first  of  the 
month.  Charming  as  he  had  found  these  rooms,  he  gave 
up,  with  scarcely  a  regret,  the  idea  of  living  in  them  any 
longer.  In  a  month  it  would  be  summer  and  he  would  be 
on  his  way  to  Paris. 

But  so  great  was  his  desire  for  work  now,  so  eager  was 
he  to  start  the  "Last  Enemy,"  so  strong  was  the  new 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

energy  that  shook  him,  that  Vandover  could  not  wait  until 
summer  to  begin  work  again.  He  grudged  everything 
now  that  kept  him  away  from  his  easel. 

He  disappeared  from  the  sight  of  his  ordinary  compan 
ions;  he  did  not  even  seek  the  society  of  Geary  or  of  young 
Haight.  All  the  sketches  he  had  made  for  the  "Last 
Enemy,"  together  with  his  easel  and  his  disused  palette, 
his  colour-box,  tubes,  brushes  and  all  the  other  materials 
and  tools  for  his  work,  he  caused  to  be  transferred  to  the 
new  studio.  Besides  this  he  had  the  stretcher  made,  best 
twill  canvas  on  a  frame  four  feet  long,  two  and  a  half  feet 
high.  This  was  for  the  large  sketch  of  the  picture.  But 
the  finished  work  he  calculated  would  demand  an  eight 
by  five  stretcher. 

He  did  not  think  of  decorating  the  room,  of  putting  any 
ornaments  about  the  wall.  He  was  too  serious,  too  much 
in  earnest  now  to  think  of  that.  The  studio  was  not  to  be 
his  lounging  place,  but  his  workshop.  His  art  was  work 
with  him  now,  hard,  serious  work.  It  was  above  all  work 
that  he  needed  to  set  him  right  again,  regular  work,  steady, 
earnest  work,  not  the  dilettante  fancy  of  an  amateur  con 
tent  with  making  pretty  things. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Vandover  been  so  happy.  He 
came  and  went  continually  between  his  rooms,  his  studio, 
and  his  art  dealers,  tramping  grandly  about  the  city, 
whistling  to  himself,  strong,  elated,  filled  with  energy, 
vigour,  ambition.  At  times  his  mind  was  full  of  thank 
fulness  at  this  deliverance  at  the  eleventh  hour;  at  times 
it  was  busy  with  the  details  of  the  picture,  its  composition, 
its  colour  scheme.  The  main  effects  he  wanted  to  produce 
were  isolation  and  intense  heat,  the  shadows  on  the  sand 


222  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

would  be  blue,  the  horizon  line  high  on  the  canvas,  the 
sky  would  be  light  in  tone,  almost  white  near  the  earth. 

The  morning  when  he  first  began  to  work  was  charming. 
His  new  studio  was  in  the  top  floor  of  a  five-story  building, 
and  on  arriving  there,  breathless  from  his  long  climb  up 
the  stairs,  Vandover  threw  open  the  window  and  gazed 
out  and  down  upon  the  city  spread  out  below  him,  en 
joying  the  view  a  moment  before  settling  to  his  work. 

A  little  later  the  trades  would  be  blowing  strong  and 
brisk  from  the  ocean,  driving  steadily  through  the  Golden 
Gate,  filling  the  city  with  a  taint  of  salt;  but  at  present  the 
air  was  calm,  touched  with  a  certain  nimbleness,  a  spark 
ling  effervescence,  invigourating,  exhilarating. 

It  was  early  in  the  forenoon,  not  yet  past  nine  o'clock, 
and  the  mist  that  gathers  over  the  city  just  before  dawn 
was  steaming  off  under  the  sun,  very  thin  and  delicate, 
turning  all  distant  objects  a  flat  tone  of  pale  blue.  Over 
the  roofs  of  the  houses  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
distant  mountains,  faint  purple  masses  against  the  pale 
edge  of  the  sky,  rimming  the  horizon  round  with  a  fillet 
of  delicate  colour.  But  any  larger  view  was  barred  by  a 
huge  frame  house  with  a  slated  mansard  roof,  directly 
opposite  him  across  the  street,  a  residence  house,  one  of 
the  few  in  the  neighbourhood.  It  had  been  newly  painted 
white  and  showed  brave  and  gay  against  the  dark  blue  of 
the  sky  and  the  ruddy  greens  of  the  great  garden  in  which 
it  stood.  Vandover  from  his  window  could  from  time 
to  time  catch  the  smell  of  eucalyptus  trees  coming  to 
him  in  long  aromatic  breaths  mingled  with  the  odour  of 
wet  grass  and  fresh  paint.  Somewhere  he  heard  a  hum 
ming-bird  singing,  a  tiny  tweedling  thread  of  song,  while 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

farther  off  two  roosters  were  crowing  back  and  forth  at 
each  other  with  strained  and  raucous  trumpet  calls. 

Vandover  turned  back  to  his  work.  Under  the  huge 
north  light  was  the  easel,  and  clamped  upon  it  the  stretcher, 
blank,  and  untouched.  The  very  sight  of  the  heavy 
cream- white  twill  was  an  inspiration.  Already  Vandover 
saw  a  great  picture  upon  it;  a  great  wave  of  emotion 
suddenly  welled  up  within  him  and  he  cried  with  en 
thusiasm  : 

"By  God!  it  is  in  moods  like  this  that  chef  d'oeuvres  are 
made." 

Around  the  baseboard  of  the  room  were  a  row  of 
esquisses  for  the  picture,  on  small  landscape-stretchers, 
mere  blotches  of  colour  laid  on  with  the  palette  knife  and 
large  brushes,  almost  unintelligible  to  any  one  but  Van 
dover.  He  selected  two  or  three  of  these  and  fastened 
them  to  the  easel  above  the  big  stretcher  where  he  could 
have  them  continually  in  his  eye.  He  lit  his  pipe,  rolled 
up  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  standing  before  the  easel,  began 
to  sharpen  a  stick  of  charcoal  with  an  old  razor,  drawing 
the  blade  toward  him  so  as  to  keep  the  point  of  the  stick 
from  breaking.  Then  at  last  with  a  deep  breath  of  satis 
faction  he  began  blocking  in  the  first  large  construction 
lines  of  his  picture. 

It  was  one  o'clock  before  he  knew  it.  He  went  down 
town  and  had  a  hasty  lunch,  jealous  of  every  moment  that 
was  not  spent  on  his  picture.  The  sight  of  it  as  he  re- 
entered  the  room  sent  a  thrill  all  over  him;  he  was  succeed 
ing  better  than  he  could  have  expected,  doing  better  than 
he  thought  he  would.  He  felt  sure  that  now  he  should 
do  good  work;  every  stage  of  the  picture's  progress  was 


224  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

an  inspiration  for  the  next  one.  At  this  time  the  figures 
had  only  been  "placed,"  broadly  sketched  in  large  lines, 
"blocked  in"  as  he  called  it.  The  next  step  was  the  sec 
ond  drawing,  much  more  finished. 

He  rapped  the  stretcher  sharply  with  his  knuckles;  it 
responded  sonorously  like  a  drumhead,  the  vibration 
shaking  the  charcoal  from  the  tracings,  filling  the  air 
with  a  fine  dust.  The  outlines  grew  faint,  just  perceptible 
enough  to  guide  him  in  the  second  more  detailed  drawing. 

He  brought  his  stick  of  charcoal  to  a  very  fine  edge  and 
set  to  work  carefully.  In  a  moment  he  stopped  and,  with 
his  chamois  cloth,  dusted  out  what  he  had  drawn.  He 
had  made  a  false  start,  he  began  but  could  not  recall  how 
the  lines  should  run,  his  fingers  were  willing  enough;  in  his 
imagination  he  saw  just  how  the  outlines  should  be,  but 
somehow  he  could  not  make  his  hand  interpret  what  was 
in  his  head.  Some  third  medium  through  which  the  one 
used  to  act  upon  the  other  was  sluggish,  dull;  worse  than 
that,  it  seemed  to  be  absent.  "Well,"  he  muttered, 
" can't  I  make  this  come  out  right? "  Then  he  tried  more 
carefully.  His  imagination  saw  the  picture  clearer,  his 
hand  moved  with  more  assurance,  but  the  two  seemed  to 
act  independently  of  each  other.  The  forms  he  made 
on  the  canvas  were  no  adequate  reflection  of  those  in  his 
brain;  some  third  delicate  and  subtle  faculty  that  coordi 
nated  the  other  two  and  that  called  forth  a  sure  and  instant 
response  to  the  dictates  of  his  mind,  was  lacking.  The 
lines  on  his  canvas  were  those  of  a  child  just  learning  to 
draw;  one  saw  for  what  they  were  intended,  but  they 
were  crude,  they  had  no  life,  no  meaning.  The  very 
thing  that  would  have  made  them  intelligible,  interpretive, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  225 

that  would  have  made  them  art,  was  absent.  A  third, 
a  fourth,  and  a  fifth  time  Vandover  made  the  attempt. 
It  was  useless.  He  knew  that  it  was  not  because  his 
hand  lacked  cunning  on  account  of  long  disuse;  such  a 
thing,  in  spite  of  popular  belief,  never  happened  to  artists 
—  a  good  artist  might  abandon  his  work  for  five  years, 
ten  years  —  and  take  it  up  again  precisely  where  he  had 
laid  it  down  with  no  loss  of  technical  skill.  No,  this  thing 
seemed  more  subtle,  so  subtle  that  at  first  he  could  hardly 
grasp  it.  But  suddenly  a  great  fear  came  upon  him,  a 
momentary  return  of  that  wild  hysterical  terror  from 
which  he  believed  he  had  forever  escaped. 

"Is  it  gone?"  he  cried  out.  "Is  it  gone  from  me? 
My  art?  Steady,"  he  went  on,  passing  his  hand  over  his 
face  with  a  reassuring  smile;  "steady,  old  man,  this  won't 
do,  again  —  and  so  soon !  It  won't  do  for  you  to  get 
scared  twice  like  that.  This  is  just  nervousness,  you  are 
overexcited.  Pshaw!  What's  the  matter  with  me? 
Let's  get  to  work." 

Still  another  time  he  dusted  out  what  he  had  done  and 
recommenced,  concentrating  all  his  attention  with  a 
tremendous  effort  of  the  will.  Grotesque  and  meaningless 
shapes,  the  mocking  caricatures  of  those  he  saw  in  his 
fancy,  grew  under  his  charcoal,  while  slowly,  slowly,  a 
queer,  numb  feeling  came  in  his  head,  like  a  rising  fog, 
and  the  touch  of  that  unreasoning  terror  returned,  this 
time  stronger,  more  persistent,  more  tenacious  than  before. 

Vandover  nerved  himself  against  it,  not  daring  to  give 
in,  fearing  to  allow  himself  to  see  what  this  really  meant. 
He  passed  one  hand  over  his  cheek  and  along  the  side  of 
his  head,  the  fingers  dancing.  "Hum!"  he  muttered, 


226  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

looking  vaguely  about  him,  "this  is  bad.  I  mustn't  let 
this  get  the  better  of  me  now.  I'll  knock  off  for  to-day, 
take  a  little  rest,  begin  again  to-morrow." 

In  ten  minutes  he  was  back  at  his  easel  again.  His 
charcoal  wandered,  tracing  empty  lines  on  his  canvas,  the 
strange  numbness  grew  again  in  his  head.  All  the  objects 
in  the  range  of  his  eyes  seemed  to  move  back  and  stand 
on  the  same  plane.  He  became  a  little  dizzy. 

"It's  the  tobacco"  he  exclaimed.  "That  pipe  always 
was  too  strong."  He  turned  away  to  the  open  window, 
feeling  an  irresistible  need  of  distraction,  of  amusement, 
and  he  remained  there  resting  on  his  elbows,  listening  and 
looking,  trying  to  be  interested. 

It  was  toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  The  morn 
ing  mist  was  long  since  evaporated  and  the  first  faint  puffs 
of  the  inevitable  trade  wind  were  just  stirring  the  leaves 
of  the  eucalyptus  across  the  street.  In  the  music-room  of 
the  white  house  the  young  lady  of  the  family  had  opened 
the  piano  and  was  practising  finger-exercises.  The  scales 
and  arpeggios  following  one  another  without  interruption, 
came  to  his  ears  in  a  pleasant  monotone.  A  Chinese 
"boy"  in  a  stiff  blouse  of  white  linen,  made  a  great  splash 
ing  as  he  washed  down  the  front  steps  with  a  bucket  of 
water  and  the  garden  hose.  Grocery  and  delivery  wagons 
came  and  went,  rattling  over  the  cobbles  and  car-tracks, 
while  occasionally  a  whistle  blew  very  far  off.  At  the 
corner  of  the  street  by  a  livery-stable  a  little  boy  in  a  flat- 
topped  leather  cap  was  calling  incessantly  for  some  unseen 
dog,  whistling  and  slapping  his  knees.  An  express- wagon 
stopped  a  few  doors  below  the  white  house  and  the  driver 
pulled  down  the  back-board  with  a  strident  rattle  of 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  227 

chains ;  the  cable  in  its  slot  kept  up  an  unceasing  burr  and 
clack  while  the  cars  themselves  trundled  up  and  down  the 
street,  starting  and  stopping  with  a  jangling  of  bells,  the 
jostled  glass  windows  whirring  in  a  prolonged  vibrant 
note.  All  these  sounds  played  lightly  over  the  steady 
muffled  roar  that  seemed  to  come  from  all  quarters  at 
once;  it  was  that  deep  murmur,  that  great  minor  diapason 
that  always  disengages  itself  from  vast  bodies,  from  moun 
tains,  from  oceans,  from  forests,  from  sleeping  armies. 

The  desire  for  movement,  for  diversion,  for  anything 
that  would  keep  him  from  thinking  was  not  to  be  resisted. 
Vandover  caught  up  his  hat  and  fled  from  the  room,  not 
daring  to  look  again  at  the  easel.  Once  outside,  he  began 
to  walk,  anywhere,  straight  before  him,  going  on  with 
great  strides,  his  head  in  the  air. 

He  found  Charlie  Geary  and  took  him  to  supper.  Van 
dover  talked  continually  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  speaking 
very  rapidly.  In  the  evening  he  insisted  on  Geary  going 
to  the  theatre  with  him.  He  paid  the  closest  attention 
to  the  play,  letting  it  occupy  his  mind  entirely.  When  the 
play  was  over  and  the  two  were  about  to  say  good  night, 
Vandover  began  to  urge  Geary  to  sleep  up  at  his  rooms 
that  night.  He  overrode  his  objections,  interrupting  him, 
taking  hold  of  his  arm,  and  starting  off.  But  Geary, 
a  little  surprised  at  his  manner,  refused.  There  were  cer 
tain  law  papers  he  had  taken  home  with  him  from  the 
office  that  afternoon  and  that  it  was  necessary  he  should 
return  in  the  morning.  Ah,  you  bet,  he  would  get  it 
right  in  the  neck  if  old  Beale  didn't  have  those  depositions 
the  first  thing  when  the  office  wras  open.  Ah,  he  was  get 
ting  to  be  indispensable  down  there.  He  had  had  Fischer's 


228  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

place  now  for  a  year.  Fischer  had  never  come  back,  and 
he  had  the  promise  of  being  taken  on  as  head  clerk  as 
soon  as  Beale  Jr.  went  into  the  partnership  with  old 
Beale.  "I'll  make  my  way  in  this  town  yet,"  he  declared. 
"I'll  be  in  that  partnership  myself  some  day.  You  see; 
yes,  sir;  ah,  you  bet ! " 

The  idea  of  passing  the  night  alone  terrified  Vandover. 
He  started  toward  home,  walking  up  Sutter  Street,  pro 
ceeding  slowly,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  All  at  once  he 
stopped,  without  knowing  why;  he  roused  himself  and 
looked  about  him.  There  was  a  smell  of  eucalyptus  in 
the  air.  Across  the  street  was  the  huge  white  house,  and 
he  found  that  he  had  stopped  just  before  the  door  of  the 
building  on  the  top  floor  of  which  his  studio  was  situated. 
All  day  Vandover's  mind  had  been  in  the  greatest  agita 
tion,  his  ideas  leaping  and  darting  hither  and  thither  like 
terrified  birds  in  a  cage.  Just  now  he  underwent  a  sudden 
reaction.  It  had  all  been  a  matter  of  fancy,  nothing  but 
nervousness;  he  had  not  drawn  for  some  time,  his  hand 
lacked  cunning  from  long  disuse.  The  desire  for  work 
came  upon  him  again  overpoweringly.  He  wanted  to 
see  again  if  he  could  not  draw  just  as  truly  and  freely  as 
in  the  old  days.  No,  he  could  not  wait  till  morning;  he 
must  put  himself  to  the  test  again  at  once,  at  the  very 
instant.  It  was  a  sudden  feminine  caprice,  induced,  no 
doubt,  by  the  exalted,  strained,  and  unnatural  condition 
of  his  nerves,  a  caprice  that  could  not  be  reasoned  with, 
that  could  not  be  withstood.  He  had  his  keys  with  him, 
he  opened  the  outside  door  and  groped  his  way  up  the  four 
long  flights  of  stairs  to  his  studio. 

The  studio  was  full  of  a  sombre  half-light,  like  a   fog, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  229 

spreading  downward  from  the  great  north  light  in  the 
sloping  roof.  The  window  was  still  wide  open,  the 
stretcher  showed  a  pale  gray  blur.  Vandover  was  about 
to  light  the  gas  when  he  checked  himself,  his  arm  still 
raised  above  his  head.  Ah,  no;  he  did  not  dare  to  look 
at  the  result  of  his  day's  work.  It  would  be  better  to 
start  in  afresh  from  the  beginning.  He  found  the  chamois 
skin  on  the  tray  of  the  easel  and  rubbed  out  all  the  drawing 
on  the  canvas.  Then  he  lit  the  gas. 

As  he  turned  to  his  work  once  more  a  little  thrill  of  joy 
and  of  relief  passed  over  him.  This  time  his  hand  was 
sure,  steady,  his  head  was  clear.  It  had  been  nervousness 
after  all.  As  he  picked  up  his  charcoal  he  even  exclaimed 
to  himself,  "Just  the  same,  that  was  a  curious  experience 
this  afternoon." 

But  the  curious  experience  repeated  itself  again  that 
night  as  soon  as  he  tried  to  work.  Once  more  certain 
shapes  and  figures  were  born  upon  his  canvas,  but  they 
were  no  longer  the  true  children  of  his  imagination,  they 
were  no  longer  his  own;  they  were  changelings,  grotesque 
abortions.  It  was  as  if  the  brute  in  him,  like  some  ma 
licious  witch,  had  stolen  away  the  true  offspring  of  his 
mind,  putting  in  their  place  these  deformed  dwarfs,  its 
own  hideous  spawn. 

Through  the  numbness  and  giddiness  that  gradually 
came  into  his  head  like  a  poisonous  murk  he  saw  one  thing 
clearly :  It  was  gone  —  his  art  was  gone,  the  one  thing 
that  could  save  him.  That,  too,  like  all  the  other  good 
things  of  his  life,  he  had  destroyed.  At  some  time  during 
those  years  of  debauchery  it  had  died,  that  subtle,  elusive 
something,  delicate  as  a  flower;  he  had  ruined  it.  Little 


230  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

by  little  it  had  exhaled  away,  wilting  in  the  air  of  unre 
strained  debauches,  perishing  in  the  warm  musk-laden 
atmosphere  of  disreputable  houses,  defiled  by  the  breath 
of  abandoned  women,  trampled  into  the  spilt  wine-lees  of 
the  Imperial,  dragged  all  fouled  and  polluted  through  the 
lowest  mire  of  the  great  city's  vice. 

For  a  moment  Vandover  felt  as  though  he  was  losing 
his  hold  upon  his  reason;  the  return  of  the  hysteria  shook 
him  like  a  dry,  light  leaf.  He  suddenly  had  a  sensation 
that  the  room  was  too  small  to  hold  him;  he  ran,  almost 
reeled,  to  the  open  window,  drawing  his  breath  deep  and 
fast,  inhaling  the  cool  night  air,  rolling  his  eyes  wildly. 

It  was  night.  He  looked  out  into  a  vast  blue-gray  space 
sown  with  points  of  light,  winking  lamps,  and  steady  slow- 
burning  stars.  Below  him  was  the  sleeping  city.  All 
the  lesser  staccato  noises  of  the  day  had  long  since  died  to 
silence;  there  only  remained  that  prolonged  and  sullen 
diapason,  coming  from  all  quarters  at  once.  It  was  like 
the  breathing  of  some  infinitely  great  monster,  alive  and 
palpitating,  the  sistole  and  diastole  of  some  gigantic  heart. 
The  whole  existence  of  the  great  slumbering  city  passed 
upward  there  before  him  through  the  still  night  air  in  one 
long  wave  of  sound. 

It  was  Life,  the  murmur  of  the  great,  mysterious  force 
that  spun  the  wheels  of  Nature  and  that  sent  it  onward 
like  some  enormous  engine,  resistless,  relentless;  an  engine 
that  sped  straight  forward,  driving  before  it  the  infinite 
herd  of  humanity,  driving  it  on  at  breathless  speed  through 
all  eternity,  driving  it  no  one  knew  whither,  crushing  out 
inexorably  all  those  who  lagged  behind  the  herd  and  who 
fell  from  exhaustion,  grinding  them  to  dust  beneath  its 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  231 

myriad  iron  wheels,  riding  over  them,  still  driving  on 
the  herd  that  yet  remained,  driving  it  recklessly,  blindly 
on  and  on  toward  some  far-distant  goal,  some  vague  un 
known  end,  some  mysterious,  fearful  bourne  forever 
hidden  in  thick  darkness. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

ABOUT  a  week  later  Hiram  Wade,  Ida's  father,  brought 
suit  against  Vandover  to  recover  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars,  claiming  that  his  daughter  had  killed  herself  be 
cause  she  had  been  ruined  by  him  and  that  he  alone  was 
responsible  for  her  suicide. 

Vandover  had  passed  this  week  iium .agony  of  grief  over 
/  f  the  loss  of  his  art,  a  grief  that  seemed  even  sharper  than 
that  which  he  had  felt  over  the  death  of  his  father.  For 
this  last  calamity  was  like  the  death  of  a  child  of  his,  some 
dear,  sweet  child,  that  might  have  been  his  companion 
throughout  all  his  life.  At  times  it  seemed  to  him  impos 
sible  that  his  art  should  fail  him  in  this  manner,  and  again 
and  again  he  would  put  himself  at  his  easel,  only  to  ex 
perience  afresh  the  return  of  the  numbness  in  his  brain, 
the  impotency  of  his  fingers. 

He  had  begun  little  by  little  to  pick  up  the  course  of  his 
life  once  more,  and  on  a  certain  Wednesday  morning  was 
looking  listlessly  through  the  morning  paper  as  he  sat  in 
his  window-seat.  The  room  was  delightful,  flooded  with 
the  morning  sun,  the  Assyrian  bas-reliefs  just  touched 
with  a  ruddy  light,  the  Renaissance  portraits  looking 
down  at  him  through  a  fine  golden  haze;  a  little  fire,  just 
enough  to  blunt  the  keenness  of  the  early  morning  air, 
snapping  in  the  famous  tiled  and  flamboyant  stove.  All 
about  the  room  was  a  pleasant  fragrance  of  coffee  and 
good  tobacco. 

232 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  233 

Vandover  caught  sight  of  the  announcement  of  the  suit 
with  a  sudden  sharp  intake  of  breath  that  was  half  gasp, 
half  cry,  starting  up  from  the  window-seat,  reading  it 
over  again  and  again  with  staring  eyes. 

It  was  a  very  short  paragraph,  not  more  than  a  dozen 
lines,  lost  at  the  bottom  of  a  column,  among  the  cheap 
advertisements.  It  made  no  allusion  to  any  former  stage 
of  the  affair;  from  its  tone  Ida  might  have  killed  herself 
only  the  day  before.  It  seemed  hardly  more  than  a  notice 
that  some  enterprising  reporter,  burrowing  in  the  records 
at  the  City  Hall,  had  unearthed  and  brought  to  light  with 
the  idea  that  it  might  be  of  possible  interest  to  a  few 
readers  of  the  paper.  But  there  was  his  name  staring  back 
at  him  from  out  the  gray  blur  of  the  type,  like  some  reflec 
tion  of  himself  seen  in  a  mirror.  Insignificant  as  the  para 
graph  was,  it  seemed  to  Vandover  as  though  it  was  the  only 
item  in  the  whole  paper.  One  might  as  well  have  trum 
peted  his  crime  through  the  streets. 

"But  twenty-five  thousand  dollars!"  exclaimed  Van 
dover,  terrified.  "Where  will  I  find  twenty -five  thousand 
dollars?  "  And  at  once  he  fell  to  wondering  as  to  whether 
or  no  in  default  of  payment  he  could  be  sent  to  the  peni 
tentiary.  The  idea  of  winning  the  suit  did  not  enter  his 
mind  an  instant;  he  did  not  even  dream  of  fighting  it. 

For  the  moment  it  was  like  fire  driving  out  fire.  He 
forgot  the  loss  of  his  art,  his  mind  filled  only  with  the 
sense  of  the  last  disaster.  What  could  he  do?  Twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars!  It  would  ruin  him.  A  cry  of 
exasperation,  of  rage  at  his  own  folly,  escaped  him.  "  Ah, 
what  a  fool  I've  been ! " 

an  hour  he  raged  to  and  fro  in  the  delightful  sunlit 


234  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

room,  pacing  back  and  forth  in  its  longest  dimension  be 
tween  the  bamboo  tea-table  and  the  low  bookcase,  a 
thousand  different  plans  and  projects  coming  and  going 
in  his  head.  As  his  wits  steadied  themselves  he  began  to 
see  that  he  must  consult  at  once  with  some  lawyer  — 
Field,  of  course  —  perhaps  something  could  be  done ;  a 
clever  lawyer  might  make  out  a  case  for  him  after  all. 
But  all  at  once  he  became  convinced  that  Field  would  not 
undertake  his  defence;  he  knew  he  had  no  case;  so  what 
could  Field  do  for  him?  He  would  have  to  tell  him  the 
truth,  and  he  saw  with  absolute  clearness  that  the  lawyer 
would  refuse  to  try  to  defend  him.  The  thing  could  not 
honourably  be  done.  But,  then,  what  should  he  do?  He 
must  have  legal  advice  from  some  quarter. 

He  was  still  in  this  state  of  perplexity  when  Charlie 
Geary  arrived,  pounding  on  the  door  and  opening  it  im 
mediately  afterward  as  was  his  custom. 

"Hello!"  said  Vandover,  surprised.  "Hello,  Charlie! 
is  that  you?" 

"Say,"  exclaimed  Geary  without  returning  his  greeting, 
holding  up  his  hand  as  if  to  interrupt  him;  "say,  have  you 
seen  your  lawyer  yet  —  seen  any  lawyer?  " 

"No,"  answered  Vandover,  shaking  his  head  gravely; 
"no,  I've  only  this  minute  read  about  it  in  the  paper." 
He  was  glad  that  Geary  had  come;  at  once  he  felt  a  desire 
to  throw  this  burden  upon  his  chum's  shoulders,  to  let 
him  assume  the  management  of  the  affair,  just  as  in  the 
old  college  days  he  had  willingly,  weakly,  submitted  to  the 
dictatorship  of  the  shrewder,  stronger  man  who  smoothed 
out  his  difficulties  for  him,  and  extricated  him  from  all  his 
scrapes.  He  knew  Geary  to  be  full  of  energy  and  resource, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  235 

and  he  had  confidence  in  his  ability  as  a  lawyer,  even 
though  he  was  so  young  in  years  and  experience.  Besides 
this,  he  was  his  friend,  his  college  chum;  for  all  Geary's 
disagreeable  qualities  he  knew  he  would  do  the  right  thing 
by  him  now. 

"You're  the  one  man  of  all  others  I  wanted  to  see,"  he 
exclaimed  as  he  gripped  his  hand.  "By  George!  I'm 
glad  you  have  come.  Here,  sit  down  and  let's  talk  this 
over."  Geary  took  the  big  leather  chair  behind  the  desk, 
and  Vandover  flung  himself  again  upon  the  window-seat. 
It  was  as  if  the  two  were  back  in  the  room  in  Matthew's; 
hundreds  of  times  in  those  days  they  had  occupied  pre 
cisely  these  positions,  Geary  bending  over  at  the  study 
table,  intent,  nervous,  very  keen,  Vandover  lounging  idly 
upon  the  window-seat,  resting  easily  on  his  elbow  listening 
to  the  other  man's  advice. 

"Now,  what  must  I  do,  Charlie?"  Vandover  began. 
"See  my  lawyer,  I  suppose?  But  do  you  think  a  lawyer 
like  Field  would  take  my  case?  You  know  I  haven't  a  leg 
to  stand  on." 

"But  you  haven't  seen  him?"  inquired  Geary  sharply. 
"Haven't  seen  anybody  about  it?"  Vandover  shook  his 
head.  "  Sure ? "  insisted  Geary  anxiously. 

"Why,  I  have  only  just  heard  about  it  twenty  minutes 
ago,"  protested  Vandover.  "Why  are  you.  so  particular 
about  that?"  he  added.  Then  Geary  exploded  his  mine. 

"Because,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  of  triumph  that  he 
could  not  restrain,  "because  we  are  the  counsel  for  the 
other  side.  I  am  on  the  case." 

Vandover  bounded  from  the  window-seat  speechless 
with  astonishment,  bitterly  disappointed.  "FowP"  he 


236  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

shouted.  Geary  slowly  nodded  his  head,  enjoying  Van- 
do  ver's  bewilderment.  Vandover  dropped  back  upon  the 
cushions  again,  staring  at  him  wildly  with  growing  sus 
picion  and  anger.  He  would  not  have  thought  it  possible 
that  Geary  could  so  sacrifice  their  old  friendship  to  his 
own  personal  interest.  The  two  continued  staring  at  each 
other  across  the  table  for  a  moment.  In  the  silence  they 
heard  the  long  rumble  of  a  cable-car  passing  the  house, 
and  the  persistent  jangling  of  its  bell  as  it  approached  the 
street  crossing.  A  grocery  wagon  went  up  the  side  street, 
the  horses'  hoofs  making  a  cadenced  clapping  sound  upon 
the  asphalt. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Vandover  scornfully,  "I  suppose 
that's  business,  but  /  would  call  it  damned  unkind ! " 

"Now,  look  here,  old  man,"  returned  Geary  consolingly. 
"Don't  you  take  the  monkey-wrench  off  the  safety  valve 
like  that.  What  am  I  here  for  if  it  isn't  to  help  you? 
Maybe  you  don't  know  that  this  is  a  mighty  unprofessional 
thing  to  do.  Ah,  you  bet,  if  old  Beale  knew  this  I  would 
get  it  right  in  the  neck.  Don't  you  suppose  I  can  help  you 
more  as  Wade's  lawyer  than  I  could  as  yours?  And  now 
that's  the  very  first  thing  I've  got  to  tell  you  —  to  keep 
this  dark,  that  I  have  seen  you.  I  can't  do  anything  for 
you  if  you  don't  promise  that." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  returned  Vandover,  reassured. 
"That's  all  right,  you  can " 

"It's  not  considered  the  right  thing  to  do,"  Geary  con 
tinued,  not  heeding  Vando ver's  answer,  "but  I  just  do  it 
because"  —  he  began  to  make  awkward  gestures  with 
both  his  hands  —  "because  we're  old  friends,  like  that. 
That  was  the  very  first  thing  I  thought  of  when  Beale  Jr. 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  237 

told  me  that  we  two  had  the  case  —  that  I  could  get  you 
out  of  this  hole  better  as  Wade's  lawyer  than  as  your  own. 
Ah,  you  bet,  I  was  clever  enough  to  see  that  the  first 
thing." 

"I'm  sure  it  was  awfully  good  of  you,  old  man,"  said 
Vandover  sincerely.  "  I'm  in  a  lot  of  trouble  nowadays ! " 

"Well,  now  don't  you  bother,  Van,"  answered  Geary 
consolingly.  "I  guess  we  can  pull  you  out  of  this  all 
right."  He  drew  up  to  the  table,  looking  about  from  side 
to  side.  "Got  any  writing  paper  concealed  about  the 
premises?"  he  asked.  Vandover  pushed  him  over  his 
writing  pad,  and  Geary,  taking  the  cap  from  his  fountain 
pen,  began  asking  a  series  of  questions,  taking  down  his 
answers  in  shorthand.  After  he  had  asked  him  as  to  his 
age,  length  of  residence  in  the  city,  his  property,  and  some 
few  other  technical  matters,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  said : 

"Now,  let's  hear  your  side  of  the  story,  Van.  I  don't 
suppose  you  like  to  go  over  the  thing  again,  but  you  see  I 
ought  to  know."  Vandover  told  of  the  affair,  Geary 
making  notes  as  he  went  along.  It  was  nearly  noon  be 
fore  their  interview  was  at  an  end.  Then  Geary  gathered 
up  the  papers  and  reached  for  his  hat  and  stick,  saying : 

"Well,  now,  that's  all  we  can  do  to-day.  I  think  I'll  be 
up  to  see  you  again  day  after  to-morrow,  in  the  afternoon. 
Beale  Jr.  and  I  have  a  date  with  Mr.  Wade  again  to 
morrow,  I  think,  and  I  can  talk  to  you  more  definitely 
after  that.  You  know  this  is  the  devil  of  a  thing  to  do," 
he  suddenly  exclaimed  apprehensively,  "this  playing  back 
and  forth  between  the  two  parties  like  this;  regularly  dis 
honourable,  don't  you  know?  " 


238  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

"If  you  think  it's  dishonourable,"  said  Vandover  as  he 
accompanied  Geary  to  the  door,  "if  you  think  it's  dis 
honourable,  Charlie,  why,  don't  do  it!  I  don't  want  to 
ask  you  to  do  anything  dishonourable  for  me." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  replied  Geary  uneasily;  "I  had 
just  as  soon  do  it  for  you,  only  listen  to  this :  don't  you  say 
a  word  about  the  case  to  anybody,  not  to  your  lawyer,  nor 
to  anybody.  If  Field  should  write  to  you,  you  tell  him 
you  have  counsel  already.  And,  look  here !  you  may  have 
the  reporters  up  here  pretty  soon,  and  don't  you  open 
your  face  to  them;  you  mind  that;  don't  you  let  them  get 
a  thing  out  of  you.  And  there's  another  thing  you  must 
understand:  I'm  not  your  lawyer,  of  course;  you  see  that. 
I  could  be  disbarred  if  I  was  lawyer  for  both  sides.  It's 
like  this,  you  see:  I'm  Wade's  lawyer  —  at  least  the  firm 
I  am  with  are  his  lawyers  —  and  of  course  I'm  acting  in 
Wade's  interest.  But  you're  an  old  chum  of  mine,  and  if 
I  can  I'm  going  to  try  and  make  it  easier  for  you.  You 
understand,  don't  you?  " 

"Yes,  I  understand,  Charlie,"  answered  Vandover,  "and 
you  are  just  a  brick." 

Vandover  passed  the  rest  of  the  day  in  his  sitting-room, 
the  suspense  of  the  situation  slowly  screwing  his  nerves 
tenser  and  tenser.  He  walked  for  hours  back  and  forth, 
his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  his  head  bent  down, 
his  forehead  drawn  into  a  frown  of  anxiety  and  exaspera 
tion,  or  he  stood  for  a  long  time  at  the  window  looking 
out  into  the  street  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing.  At  supper 
that  night  he  found  that  his  appetite  had  left  him;  the 
very  thought  of  food  revolted  him.  He  returned  to  his 
room  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock,  his  body  and  mind 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  239 

completely  fagged,  feeling  a  crying  need  of  some  diversion, 
some  escape  from  the  thoughts  that  had  been  hounding 
him  all  day. 

He  made  up  his  mind  to  read  a  little  before  going  to  bed, 
and  all  at  once  remembered  a  book  that  he  had  once  begun 
a  long  time  ago  but  had  never  finished:  the  story  of  two 
men  who  had  bought  a  wrecked  opium  ship  for  fifty  thousand 
dollars  and  had  afterward  discovered  that  she  contained 
only  a  few  tins  of  the  drug.  He  had  never  read  on  to  find 
how  that  story  turned  out.  Suddenly  he  found  himself 
repeating,  "Twenty -five  thousand  dollars,  twenty -five 
thousand  dollars  —  where  will  /  find  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars?"  He  wondered  if  he  would  go  to  jail  if  he  failed 
to  pay.  His  interest  in  the  book  was  gone  in  a  moment, 
and  he  took  up  another  of  his  favourite  novels,  the  story 
of  a  boy  at  the  time  of  Christ,  a  Jewish  boy  unjustly  con 
demned  to  the  galleys,  liberated  afterward,  and  devoting 
his  life  to  the  overthrow  of  his  enemy,  whom  at  last  he 
overcame  and  humbled,  fouling  him  in  a  chariot  race,  all 
but  killing  him. 

He  sat  down  in  the  huge  leather  chair,  and,  drawing  it 
up  to  the  piano  lamp  and  cocking  his  feet  upon  the  table, 
began  to  read.  In  a  few  moments  the  same  numbness 
stole  into  his  head  like  a  rising  fog,  a  queer,  tense  feeling, 
growing  at  the  back  of  his  forehead  and  at  the  base  of  his 
skull,  a  dulness,  a  strange  stupefying  sensation  as  of  some 
torpid,  murky  atmosphere.  He  looked  about  him  quickly ; 
all  the  objects  in  the  range  of  his  vision  —  the  corner  of  the 
desk,  the  corduroy  couch,  the  low  bookcase  with  Flossie's 
yellow  slipper  and  Barye's  lioness  upon  it  —  seemed  to  move 
back  and  stand  upon  the  same  plane;  the  objects  them- 


240  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

selves  appeared  immovable  enough,  but  the  sensation  of 
them  in  his  brain  somewhere  behind  his  eyes  began  to 
move  about  in  a  slow,  dizzy  whirl.  The  old  touch  of  un 
reasoning  terror  came  back,  together  with  a  sudden  terror 
of  the  spirit,  a  sickening  sinking  of  the  heart,  a  loathing  of 
life,  terrible  beyond  words. 

Vandover  started  up,  striving  to  keep  himself  in  hand, 
fighting  against  a  wild  desire  to  rush  about  from  wall  to 
wall,  shrieking  and  waving  his  arms.  Over  and  over 
again  he  exclaimed,  "Oh,  what  is  the  matter  with  me?'* 
The  strangeness  of  the  thing  was  what  unsettled  and  un 
nerved  him.  He  had  all  the  sensations  of  terror,  but 
without  any  assignable  reason,  and  this  groundless  fear 
became  in  the  end  the  cause  of  a  new  fear:  he  was  afraid 
of  this  fear  that  was  afraid  of  nothing. 

Very  gradually,  however,  the  crisis  passed  away.  He 
became  a  little  calmer,  and  as  he  was  mixing  himself  a  glass 
of  whisky  and  water  at  the  sideboard  he  decided  that  he 
would  go  to  bed.  He  was  sure  that  he  would  be  better 
for  a  good  night's  rest;  evidently  his  nerves  were  out  of 
order;  it  would  not  do  for  him  to  read  late  at  night.  He 
realized  all  at  once  that  his  mind  and  body  alike  were  ex 
hausted. 

He  passed  a  miserable  night,  dozing  and  waking  at  alter 
nate  hours  until  three  o'clock,  when  he  found  it  impossible 
to  get  to  sleep;  hour  after  hour  he  lay  flat  on  his  back 
staring  open-eyed  into  the  darkness,  listening  to  the  ticking 
of  the  clock,  the  mysterious  footsteps  that  creaked  the 
floors  overhead,  and  the  persistent  drip  of  a  water  faucet. 
Outside  in  the  street  he  heard  at  long  intervals  the  rat 
tling  of  wheels  as  the  early  milk  wagons  came  and  went; 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  241 

a  dog  began  to  bark,  three  gruff  notes  repeated  monoto 
nously  at  exact  intervals;  all  at  once  there  was  a  long 
muffled  roll  and  an  abrupt  clacking  noise;  it  ceased,  then 
broke  out  again  sharply,  paused  once  more,  then  recom 
menced,  settling  to  a  prolonged  minor  hum;  the  cable  was 
starting  up;  it  was  almost  morning,  the  window  of  his 
room  began  to  show  a  brighter  blur  in  the  darkness,  while 
very  far  off  he  could  hear  the  steady  puffing  of  a  locomo 
tive.  -As  the  first  cable-car  trundled  by  the  house  he 
dropped  off  to  sleep  for  the  last  time,  being  waked  again 
toward  nine  o'clock  by  the  sound  of  some  one  shovelling 
coal  outside  under  his  window\  the  shovel  clinking  and 
rasping  upon  the  stone  sidewalk. 

He  felt  a  little  refreshed,  but  as  he  entered  the  dining- 
room  for  his  late  breakfast  the  smell  of  food  repulsed  him ; 
his  appetite  was  gone;  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  eat. 
Toward  eleven  o'clock  that  same  morning  he  was  pottering 
idly  about  his  sitting-room,  winding  his  clock  and  shaking 
down  the  ashes  in  the  tiled  flamboyant  stove;  his  mind 
was  still  busy  going  over  for  the  hundredth  time  all  the 
possibilities  of  Hiram  Wade's  suit,  and  he  was  just  won 
dering  whether  something  in  the  way  of  a  compromise 
might  not  be  arranged,  when  with  the  suddenness  of  a 
blow  between  the  eyes  the  numbness  in  his  head  returned, 
together  with  the  same  unreasoning  fear,  the  same  de 
pression  of  spirits,  the  same  fearful  sinking  of  the  heart. 
What !  it  was  coming  back  again,  this  strange  attack,  com 
ing  back  even  when  his  attention  was  not  concentrated, 
even  when  there  was  no  unusual  exertion  of  his  brain ! 

Then  the  torment  began.  This  time  the  crisis  did  not 
pass  off;  from  now  on  it  persisted  continually.  Vandover 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

began  to  feel  strange.  At  first  the  room  looked  unfamiliar 
to  him,  then  his  own  daily  life  no  longer  seemed  recogniza 
ble,  and,  finally,  all  of  a  sudden,  it  was  the  whole  world, 
all  the  existing  order  of  things,  that  appeared  to  draw  off 
like  a  refluent  tide,  leaving  him  alone,  abandoned,  cast 
upon  some  fearful,  mysterious  shore. 

Nothing  seemed  worth  while;  all  the  thousand  little 
trivial  things  that  made  up  the  course  of  his  life  and  in 
which  he  found  diversion  and  amusement  palled  upon  him. 
A  fearful  melancholia  settled  over  him,  a  despair,  an 
abhorrence  of  living  that  could  not  be  uttered.  This  only 
was  during  the  day.  It  was  that  night  that  Vandover 
went  down  into  the  pit. 

He  went  to  bed  early,  his  brain  in  a  whirl,  his  frame  worn 
out  as  if  from  long  physical  exertion.  He  was  just  drop 
ping  into  a  grateful  sleep  when  his  whole  body  twitched 
suddenly  with  a  shock  and  a  recoil  of  all  his  nerves;  in  an 
instant  he  was  broad  awake,  panting  and  exhausted  as  if 
from  a  long  run.  Once  more  he  settled  himself  upon  the 
pillow,  and  once  more  the  same  leap,  the  same  sharp 
spasm  of  his  nerves  caught  him  back  to  consciousness 
with  the  suddenness  of  a  relaxed  spring.  At  last  sleep 
was  out  of  the  question;  his  drowsiness  of  the  early  part  of 
the  evening  passed  away,  and  he  lay  back,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head,  staring  up  into  the  darkness,  his 
thoughts  galloping  incessantly  through  his  brain,  suffering 
without  pain  as  he  had  never  imagined  a  human  being 
could  suffer  though  racked  with  torture  from  head  to  heel. 

From  time  to  time  a  slow  torsion  and  crisping  of  all  his 
nerves,  beginning  at  his  ankles,  spread  to  every  corner  of 
his  body  till  he  had  to  shut  his  fists  and  teeth  against  the 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  243 

blind  impulse  to  leap  from  his  bed  screaming.  His  hands 
felt  light  and,  as  he  told  himself,  "jumpy."  All  at  once 
he  felt  a  peculiar  sensation  in  them :  they  seemed  to  swell, 
the  fingers  puffing  to  an  enormous  size,  the  palms  bulging, 
the  whole  member  from  the  wrist  to  the  nails  distended 
like  a  glove  when  one  has  blown  into  it  to  straighten  it 
out.  Then  he  had  a  feeling  that  his  head  was  swelling  in 
the  same  way.  He  had  to  rub  his  hands  together,  to  pass 
them  again  and  again  over  his  face  to  rid  himself  of  the 
fancy. 

But  the  strange  numb  feeling  at  the  base  of  the  skull 
did  not  keep  him  from  thinking  —  he  would  have  been 
glad  if  it  had  —  and  now  at  last  when  the  terror  overcame 
him  it  was  no  longer  causeless;  he  knew  now  what  he 
feared  —  he  feared  that  he  was  going  mad. 

It  was  the  punishment  that  he  had  brought  upon  him 
self,  some  fearful  nervous  disease,  the  result  of  his  long 
indulgence  of  vice,  his  vile  submission  to  the  brute  that 
was  to  destroy  his  reason;  some  collapse  of  all  his  faculties, 
beginning  first  wTith  that  which  was  highest,  most  sensitive 
—  his  art  —  spreading  onward  and  downward  till  he 
should  have  reached  the  last  stages  of  idiocy.  It  was 
Nature  inexorably  exacting.  It  was  the  vast  fearful 
engine  riding  him  down  beneath  its  myriad  spinning 
wheels,  remorselessly,  irresistibly. 

The  dreadful  calamities  that  he  had  brought  upon  him 
self  recoiled  upon  his  head,  crushing  him  to  the  dust  with 
their  weight  of  anguish  and  remorse:  Ida  Wade's  suicide, 
his  father's  death,  his  social  banishment,  the  loss  of  his  art, 
Hiram  Wade's  lawsuit  menacing  him  with  beggary,  and 
now  this  last,  this  approaching  insanity.  It  was  no  longer 


244  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

fire  driving  out  fire;  the  sense  of  all  these  disasters  seemed 
to  come  back  upon  him  at  once,  as  keen,  as  bitter  as  when 
they  had  first  befallen.  He  had  told  himself  that  he  did 
not  believe  in  a  hell.  Could  there  be  a  worse  hell  than 
this? 

But  all  at  once,  without  knowing  why,  moved  by  an 
impulse,  a  blind,  resistless  instinct,  Vandover  started  up 
in  bed,  raising  his  clasped  hands  above  him,  crying  out, 
"Oh,  help  me!  Why  don't  you  help  me?  You  can  if  you 
only  will!"  Who  was  it  to  whom  he  had  cried  with  such 
unerring  intuition?  He  gave  no  name  to  this  mysterious 
"  You,"  this  strange  supernatural  being,  this  mighty  super 
human  power.  It  was  the  cry  of  a  soul  in  torment  that 
does  not  stop  to  reason,  the  wild  last  hope  that  feels  its 
own  helplessness,  that  responds  to  an  intuition  of  a  force 
outside  of  itself  —  the  force  that  can  save  it  in  its  time 
of  peril. 

Trembling,  his  hands  still  clasped  above  him,  Vandover 
waited  for  an  answer,  waited  for  the  miracle.  In  the  tor 
tured  exalted  state  of  his  nerves  he  seemed  suddenly 
possessed  of  a  sixth  sense;  he  fancied  that  he  would  know, 
there  in  that  room,  in  a  few  seconds,  while  yet  his  hands 
remained  clasped  above  his  head.  It  was  his  last  hope: 
if  this  failed  him  there  was  nothing  left.  Still  he  waited; 
he  felt  that  he  should  know  when  the  miracle  came,  that  he 
would  suddenly  be  filled  with  a  sense  of  peace,  of  quiet  joy. 
Still  he  waited  —  there  was  nothing,  nothing  but  the  vast 
silence,  the  unbroken  blackness  of  the  night,  a  night  that 
was  to  last  forever.  There  was  no  answer,  nothing  but 
the  deaf  silence,  the  blind  darkness.  But  in  a  moment 
he  felt  that  the  very  silence,  the  very  lack  of  answer,  was 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  245 

answer  in  itself;  there  was  nothing  for  him.  Even  that 
vast  mysterious  power  to  which  he  had  cried  could  not 
help  him  now,  could  not  help  him,  could  not  stay  the  in 
exorable  law  of  nature,  could  not  reverse  that  vast  terrible 
engine  with  its  myriad  spinning  wheels  that  was  riding 
him  down  relentlessly,  grinding  him  into  the  dust.  And 
afterward?  After  the  engine  had  done  its  work,  when 
that  strange  other  time  should  come,  that  other  life,  what 
then?  No,  not  even  then,  nothing  but  outer  darkness 
then  and  the  gnashing  of  teeth,  nothing  but  the  deaf  si 
lence,  nothing  but  the  blind  darkness,  nothing  but  the 
unbroken  blackness  of  an  eternal  night. 

It  was  the  end  of  everything !  With  a  muffled  cry,  "  Oh, 
I  can't  stand  this!"  Vandover  threw  himself  from  his  bed, 
groping  his  way  out  into  the  sitting-room.  By  this  time 
he  was  only  conscious  of  a  suffering  too  great  to  be  borne, 
everything  else  was  blurred  as  in  a  thick  mist.  For  nearly 
an  hour  he  stumbled  about  in  the  darkened  room,  bruising 
himself  against  the  furniture,  dazed,  numb,  trying  in  vain 
to  find  the  drawer  of  the  desk  where  he  kept  his  father's 
revolver.  At  last  his  hand  closed  upon  it,  gripping  it  so 
tightly  that  the  hundreds  of  little  nicks  and  scratches  made 
by  the  contact  of  the  tacks  and  nails  which  he  had  ham 
mered  with  it  nipped  and  bit  into  his  palm  like  the  teeth 
of  tiny  mice.  A  vague  feeling  of  shame  overcame  him 
at  the  last  moment :  he  had  no  wish  to  be  found  sprawling 
upon  the  floor,  dressed  only  in  his  night-gown.  He  lit  the 
gas  and  put  on  his  bathrobe,  drawing  the  cords  securely 
about  his  waist  and  neck. 

When  he  turned  about  to  pick  up  the  revolver  again  he 
found  that  his  determination  had  weakened  considerably, 


246  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

and  he  was  obliged  to  reflect  again  upon  the  wreck  of  his 
life  and  soul  before  he  was  back  once  more  to  the  proper 
pitch  of  resolution.  It  was  five  minutes  to  two,  and  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  kill  himself  when  the  clock  struck 
the  hour.  He  spent  the  intervening  moments  in  arrang 
ing  the  details  of  the  matter.  At  first  he  thought  he  would 
do  it  standing,  but  he  abandoned  that  idea,  fearing  to 
strike  his  head  against  the  furniture  as  he  fell.  He  was 
about  to  decide  upon  the  huge  leather  chair,  when  the 
remembrance  of  his  father's  death  made  that  impossible. 
He  finally  concluded  to  sit  upon  the  edge  of  his  bed, 
leaning  a  little  backward  so  as  not  to  fall  upon  the  floor, 
and  he  dragged  the  bed  out  into  the  sitting-room,  prefer 
ring  somehow  to  die  there.  For  a  moment  the  idea  of 
lying  at  length  upon  the  bed  occurred  to  him,  but  in  an 
instant  he  recoiled  from  it,  horrified  at  the  thought  of  the 
death  that  struck  from  above;  no,  it  would  be  best  to 
sit  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  falling  backward  with  the 
shot.  Then  he  wondered  as  to  which  it  should  be,  his 
heart  or  his  head;  evidently  the  head  was  the  better;  there 
upon  the  right  side  in  the  little  hollow  of  the  temple, 
and  the  next  moment  he  found  himself  curiously  touching 
and  pressing  the  spot  with  his  fingers.  All  at  once  he 
heard  the  little  clicking  noise  that  the  clock  makes  a 
minute  or  so  before  the  hour.  It  was  almost  two;  he  sat 
down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  cocking  the  revolver, 
waiting  for  the  clock  to  strike.  An  idea  came  to  him,  and 
he  looked  at  the  calendar  that  stood  at  the  right  of  the 
clock  upon  the  top  of  the  low  bookcase.  It  was  the 
twelfth  of  April,  Thursday;  that,  then,  was  to  be  the  date 
of  his  death  —  Thursday,  April  twelfth,  at  two  in  the 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  247 

morning,  so  it  would  read  upon  his  gravestone.  For  an 
instant  the  awfulness  of  the  thing  he  was  to  do  came  upon 
him,  and  the  next  instant  he  found  himself  wondering 
if  they  still  coursed  jack-rabbits  with  greyhounds  down 
at  Coronado  the  way  they  used  to  do  when  he  was  there. 
All  at  once  the  clock  struck  two,  and  at  the  very  last  in 
stant  a  strange  impulse  to  seat  himself  before  the  mirror 
came  upon  him.  He  drew  up  a  chair  before  it,  watching 
his  reflection  intently,  but  even  as  he  raised  the  revolver 
he  suddenly  changed  his  purpose  without  knowing  why, 
and  all  at  once  crammed  the  muzzle  into  his  mouth.  He 
drew  the  trigger. 

He  heard  no  sound  of  a  report;  he  felt  no  shock,  but  a 
great  feebleness  ran  throughout  his  limbs,  a  relaxing  and 
weakening  of  all  his  muscles;  his  eyes  were  open  and  he 
saw  everything  small  and  seemingly  very  far  off  as  through 
the  reversed  end  of  an  opera-glass.  Suddenly  he  fainted. 

When  Vandover  came  to  himself  again  it  was  early 
morning.  The  room  was  full  of  daylight,  but  the  gas  was 
still  burning.  Little  by  little  the  fearful  things  of  the 
night  came  back  to  him;  he  realized  that  he  had  shot  him 
self,  and  he  waited  for  the  end,  not  daring  to  move,  his 
eyes  closed,  his  hand  still  gripping  the  scratched  butt  of 
the  revolver  in  his  lap.  For  a  long  time  he  lay  back  in 
the  chair,  motionless,  his  consciousness  slowly  returning 
like  an  incoming  tide.  At  length  he  started  to  his  feet 
with  an  expression  of  scorn  and  incredulity;  he  was  as 
sound  as  ever,  there  was  neither  scratch  nor  scar  upon  him; 
he  had  not  shot  himself  after  all. 

Curiously,  he  looked  at  the  revolver,  throwing  open  the 
breech  —  the  cylinder  was  empty;  he  had  forgotten  to 


248  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

load  it.  "  What  a  fool ! "  he  exclaimed,  laughing  scornfully, 
and  still  laughing  he  walked  to  the  centre  of  the  room 
under  the  chandelier  and  turned  out  the  gas. 

But  when  he  turned  about,  facing  the  day  once  more, 
facing  that  day  and  the  next  and  the  next  throughout  all 
the  course  of  his  life,  the  sense  of  his  misery  returned  upon 
him  in  its  full  strength  and  he  raised  his  clenched  fist  to 
his  eyes,  shutting  out  the  light.  Ah,  no,  he  could  not 
endure  it  —  the  horror  of  life  overpassed  the  horror  of 
death;  he  could  not  go  on  living.  A  new  thought  had 
come  to  him.  Wretched  as  he  was,  he  saw  that  in  time 
his  anguish  of  conscience,  even  his  dread  of  losing  his 
reason,  would  pass  from  him;  he  would  become  used  to 
them;  yes,  even  become  used  to  the  dread  of  insanity,  and 
then  he  would  return  once  more  to  vice,  return  once  more 
into  the  power  of  the  brute,  the  perverse  and  evil  monster 
that  was  knitted  to  him  now  irrevocably,  part  for  part, 
fibre  for  fibre.  He  saw  clearly  that  nothing  could  save 
him,  he  had  had  his  answer  that  night,  there  was  to  be  no 
miracle.  Was  it  not  right,  then,  that  he  should  destroy 
himself?  Was  it  not  even  his  duty?  The  better  part  of 
him  seemed  to  demand  the  act;  should  he  not  comply 
while  there  yet  was  any  better  part  left?  In  a  little  while 
the  brute  was  to  take  all. 

On  the  shelves  above  his  washstand  Vandover  found 
the  cartridges  in  a  green  pasteboard  box,  and  loaded  all 
the  chambers  of  the  revolver,  carefully.  He  closed  the 
breech;  but  as  he  was  about  to  draw  back  the  hammer  all 
his  courage,  all  his  resolution,  crumbled  in  an  instant  like 
a  tower  of  sand.  He  did  not  dare  to  shoot  himself  —  he 
was  afraid.  The  night  before  he  had  been  brave  enough; 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  249 

how  was  it  now  that  he  could  not  call  up  the  same  courage, 
the  same  determination?  When  he  thought  over  the 
wreck,  the  wretched  failure  of  his  life,  the  dreadful  pros 
pect  of  the  future  years,  his  anguish  and  his  terror  were  as 
keen  as  ever.  But  now  there  was  a  shrinking  of  his  every 
nerve  from  the  thought  of  suicide,  the  instinctive  animal 
fear  of  death,  stronger  than  himself.  His  suffering  had 
to  go  on,  had  to  run  its  course,  even  death  would  not  help 
him.  Let  it  go  on,  it  was  only  the  better  part  of  him  that 
was  suffering;  in  a  little  while  this  better  part  would  be 
dead,  leaving  only  the  brute.  It  would  die  a  natural  death 
without  any  intervention  from  him.  Was  there  any  need 
of  suicide?  Suicide!  Great  God!  his  whole  life  had  been 
one  long  suicide. 

That  same  morning  Charlie  Geary  had  eaten  a  very 
thick  underdone  steak  for  breakfast  after  enjoying  a  fine 
long  sleep  of  eight  hours.  Toward  eight  o'clock  he  went 
downtown.  He  did  not  take  a  car;  he  preferred  to  walk; 
it  helped  his  digestion  and  it  gave  him  exercise.  At 
night  he  walked  home  as  well;  that  gave  him  an  appetite; 
besides,  with  the  ten  cents  that  he  saved  in  this  way,  he 
bought  himself  a  nice  cigar  that  he  smoked  in  the  evening 
to  help  digest  his  supper.  He  was  very  careful  of  his 
health.  Ah,  you  bet,  one  had  to  look  out  for  one's  health. 

At  the  office  that  morning  he  had  a  long  talk  with 
Beale,  Jr.,  as  to  Hiram  Wade's  suit.  The  great  firm  of 
Beale  &  Storey,  into  whose  office  Geary  had  been  received, 
made  a  specialty  of  damage  suits,  and  especially  those 
suits  that  were  brought  against  a  certain  great  monopoly 
which  it  was  claimed  was  ruining  the  city  and  the  state; 


250  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

such  a  case  involving  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  dol 
lars  was  now  occupying  the  attention  of  the  heads  of  the 
firm  and,  indeed,  of  the  whole  office.  Hiram  Wade's  suit 
was  assigned  to  the  assistants.  Beale,  Jr.,  was  one  of  these, 
and  Charlie  Geary  had  managed  to  push  himself  into  the 
position  of  his  confidential  clerk.  But  Beale,  Jr.,  himself 
took  little  interest  in  the  Wade  suit;  the  suit  against  the 
great  monopoly  was  coming  to  a  head;  it  was  a  battle  of 
giants;  the  whole  office  found  itself  embroiled,  and  little 
by  little  Beale,  Jr.,  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  the 
struggle.  The  management  of  the  Wade  case  was  given 
over  to  Geary's  hands. 

When  he  had  first  heard  of  his  assignment  to  the  case 
Geary  had  been  unwilling  to  act  against  his  old  chum,  but 
it  was  the  first  legal  affair  of  any  great  importance  with 
which  he  had  been  connected,  and  he  was  soon  devoured 
with  an  inordinate  ambition  to  distinguish  himself  in 
the  eyes  of  the  firm  to  get  a  "lift,"  to  take  a  long  step 
forward  toward  the  end  of  his  desires,  which  was  to  be 
come  one  of  the  firm  itself.  He  knew  he  could  make  a 
brilliant  success  of  the  case.  Geary  was  at  this  time 
nearly  twenty-eight,  keen,  energetic,  immensely  clever; 
and  the  case  against  Vandover  was  strong.  No  one  knew 
better  than  he  himself  how  intimate  Vandover  had  been 
with  Ida  Wade;  Vandover  had  told  him  much  of  the  details 
of  their  acquaintance.  Besides  this,  a  letter  which  Ida 
had  written  to  Vandover  the  day  before  her  suicide  had 
been  found,  torn  in  three  pieces,  thrust  between  the  leaves 
of  one  of  the  books  that  she  used  to  study  at  the  normal 
school.  It  directly  implicated  Vandover  —  it  was  evi 
dence  that  could  not  be  gainsaid.  Geary  had  resolved  to 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  251 

push  the  case  against  his  old  chum.  Vandover  ought  to 
see  that  with  Geary  it  was  a  matter  of  business;  he,  Geary, 
was  only  an  instrument  of  the  law;  if  Geary  did  not  take 
the  case  some  other  lawyer  would.  At  any  rate,  whether 
Van  would  see  it  in  this  light  or  not,  Geary  was  determined 
to  take  the  case;  it  was  too  good  an  opportunity  to  let  slip; 
he  was  going  to  make  his  way  in  the  law  or  he  would  know 
the  reason  why.  Every  man  for  himself,  that  was  what 
he  said.  It  might  be  damned  selfish,  but  it  was  human 
nature;  if  he  had  to  sacrifice  Van,  so  much  the  worse. 
It  was  evident  that  his  old  college  chum  was  going  to  the 
dogs  anyway,  but  come  whatever  would,  he,  Geary,  was 
going  to  be  a  success.  Ah,  you  bet,  he  would  make  his 
way  and  he  would  make  his  money. 

Ever  since  he  had  come  into  his  little  patrimony  Geary 
had  been  making  offers  to  Vandover  for  his  block  in  the 
Mission,  Geary  would  offer  only  eight  thousand  dollars, 
but  Brunt  steadily  advised  Vandover  against  listening 
to  such  a  figure,  assuring  him  that  the  property  was  valued 
at  twelve  thousand  six  hundred.  Vandover  had  often 
wondered  at  Geary's  persistence  in  the  matter,  and  had 
often  asked  him  what  he  could  possibly  want  of  the  block. 
But  Geary  was  very  vague  in  his  replies,  generally  telling 
Vandover  that  there  was  money  in  the  investment  if  one 
could  and  would  give  the  proper  attention  to  pushing  it. 
He  told  Vandover  that  he  —  Vandover  —  was  no  business 
man,  which  was  the  lamentable  truth,  and  would  much 
prefer  to  live  upon  the  interest  of  his  bonds  rather  than 
to  be  continually  annoyed  by  defective  plumbing,  com 
plaints,  and  repairs.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that 
Geary  knew  that  a  certain  immense  boot  and  shoe  concern 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

was  after  the  same  piece  of  property.  The  houses  them 
selves  were  nothing  to  the  boot  and  shoe  people;  they 
wanted  the  land  in  order  to  build  their  manufactory  upon 
it.  A  siding  of  the  railroad  ran  down  the  alley  just  back 
of  the  property,  a  fact  that  hurt  the  lot  for  residence  pur 
poses,  but  that  was  indispensable  for  the  boot  and  shoe 
people.  Ge^ry  knew  that  the  heads  of  the  manufactory 
were  determined  to  buy  the  lot,  and  he  was  sure  that  if 
properly  handled  by  clever  brokers  they  could  be  induced 
to  offer  at  least  one  third  more  than  its  appraised  valua 
tion.  It  was  a  chance  for  a  fine  speculation,  and  it  was 
torture  to  Geary  to  think  that  Vandover,  or  in  fact  any  one 
besides  himself,  was  going  to  profit  by  it. 

The  afternoon  of  the  day  upon  which  Hiram  Wade 
had  brought  suit  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  while 
Geary  was  pottering  about  his  swivel  office  chair  with  an 
oil  can  trying  to  find  out  where  it  creaked,  a  brilliant  idea 
had  suddenly  occurred  to  him,  a  stroke  of  genius,  a  veritable 
inspiration.  Why  could  he  not  make  the  Wade  suit  a 
machine  with  which  to  force  Vandover  into  the  sale  of  the 
property? 

His  first  idea  had  been  to  push  the  case  so  vigorously 
that  Vandover  would  surely  lose  it.  But  on  second 
thought  this  course  did  not  seem  to  promise  any  satisfac 
tory  results.  Geary  knew  very  well  that  though  Hiram 
Wade  had  sued  for  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  he  could 
not  recover  more  than  five  thousand,  if  as  much  as  that. 
Geary  did  not  know  the  exact  state  of  Vandover's  affairs, 
but  he  did  not  think  that  his  chum  would  sell  any  property 
in  order  to  make  the  payment  of  damages.  It  was  much 
more  likely  that  he  would  raise  the  five  thousand,  or  what- 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  253 

ever  it  might  be,  by  placing  a  second  mortgage  on  some  of 
his  property.  This,  however,  was  presuming  that  Wade 
would  get  judgment  for  about  five  thousand  dollars.  But 
suppose  that  Vandover  thought  that  Wade  could  actually 
recover  twenty-five  thousand !  Suppose  that  Geary  himself 
should  see  Vandover  and  induce  him  to  believe  such  a 
story,  and  to  settle  the  affair  out  of  court!  Vandover 
was  as  ignorant  of  law  as  he  was  of  business.  Geary 
might  frighten  him  into  a  sale.  Yet  this  plan  seemed 
very  impracticable.  In  the  first  place,  it  would  be  un 
professional  for  Geary  to  have  an  interview  with  Vandover 
under  such  circumstances,  the  story  was  almost  too  mon 
strous  even  for  Vandover's  credibility,  and  besides,  Geary 
would  not  pay,  could  not  pay  twenty-five  thousand  for 
the  property.  This  last  was  a  serious  tangle.  In  order 
to  get  Vandover  to  sell,  Geary  would  have  to  represent  the 
damage  suit  as  involving  a  larger  sum  of  money  than 
Geary  was  willing  to  give  for  the  block,  even  a  far  larger 
sum  than  that  which  the  boot  and  shoe  manufacturers 
could  be  induced  to  pay  for  it.  It  seemed  to  be  a  dead 
lock.  Geary  began  to  see  that  the  whole  idea  was  out  of 
the  question.  Yet  the  desire  of  it  came  back  upon  him 
again  and  again.  He  dwelt  upon  it  constantly,  smelling 
out  the  chance  for  a  "deal"  somewhere  in  the  tangle  with 
the  instinct  of  the  keen  man  of  business.  At  last  he 
seemed  to  have  straightened  it  out.  The  idea  of  a  com 
promise  came  into  his  mind.  What  if  Vandover  and 
Hiram  Wade  could  be  made  to  compromise  upon  eight 
thousand  dollars!  Geary  would  be  willing  to  pay  Van 
dover  eight  thousand  for  the  block.  That  was  his  original 
offer.  Wade,  though  he  had  sued  for  twenty -five  thousand , 


254  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

could  easily  be  made  to  see  that  eight  thousand  was  as 
much  as  he  could  reasonably  expect,  and  Geary  knew  the 
boot  and  shoe  manufacturers  would  pay  fifteen  thousand 
for  the  lot,  perhaps  more. 

But  in  order  to  carry  out  the  delicate  and  complicated 
affair  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  keep  Vandover  from 
seeing  a  lawyer.  Geary  knew  that  any  lawyer  would  fight 
the  proposition  of  a  compromise  at  eight  thousand  dollars : 
five  thousand  was  as  much  as  Wade  could  possibly  get  in 
court,  and  if  judgment  for  such  amount  was  rendered, 
Vandover's  counsel  would  advise  him  to  raise  the  sum  by 
mortgaging  some  property  instead  of  selling  the  block. 

Yet  as  soon  as  Geary  arrived  at  a  solution  of  the  prob 
lem,  as  soon  as  the  "deal"  began  to  seem  feasible,  he  com 
menced  to  hesitate.  It  was  not  so  much  that  the  affair 
was  crooked,  that  his  role  in  it  was,  to  say  the  least,  un 
professional,  as  it  was  the  fact  that  Vandover  was  his  old 
college  chum  and  that,  to  put  the  matter  into  plain  words, 
Geary  was  swindling  his  best  friend  out  of  a  piece  of  prop 
erty  valued  at  twelve  thousand  six  hundred  dollars,  and 
preventing  him  from  reselling  the  same  piece  at  a  very 
advanced  figure.  Again  and  again  he  wished  that  it  was 
some  other  than  Vandover;  he  told  himself  that  in  such 
case  he  would  put  the  screw  on  without  the  least  compunc 
tion.  All  through  one  night  Geary  was  on  the  rack  torn 
between  his  friendship  for  his  chum  and  his  devouring, 
inordinate  ambition  to  make  his  way  and  to  make  his 
pile.  In  the  end  Vandover  was  sacrificed  —  the  oppor 
tunity  was  too  good  —  Geary  could  not  resist  the  chance 
for  a  "deal."  Ah,  you  bet,  just  think  of  it,  after  all,  not 
only  would  Vandover  believe  that  Geary  was  doing  him  a 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  255 

great  service,  but  the  office  would  be  delighted  with  him 
for  winning  his  first  case,  they  would  get  a  heavy  fee  from 
Wade,  and  he  would  nearly  double  his  money  invested  in 
the  block  in  the  Mission.  As  soon  as  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  put  the  "deal"  through,  he  had  seen  Vandover  at 
his  rooms  early  in  the  morning  and  had  induced  him  to 
promise  not  to  engage  any  other  counsel  and  in  general 
keep  very  quiet  about  the  whole  business. 

The  day  after,  he  and  Beale,  Jr.,  had  an  appointment 
with  Hiram  Wade,  but  toward  noon  Beale,  Jr.,  disappeared, 
leaving  word  for  Geary  that  he  had  gone  to  court  with  his 
father  to  hear  the  closing  arguments  in  the  great  suit 
against  the  monopoly,  the  last  struggle  in  the  tremendous 
legal  battle  that  had  embroiled  the  whole  office;  Geary 
was  to  use  his  own  judgment  in  the  Wade  case.  Geary 
laboured  with  Hiram  Wade  all  that  afternoon.  The  old 
fellow  mistrusted  him  on  account  of  his  youth  and  his 
inexperience,  was  unwilling  to  arrive  at  any  definite 
conclusion  without  the  sanction  of  Geary's  older  associate, 
and  for  a  long  time  would  listen  to  nothing  less  than  ten 
thousand  dollars,  crying  out  that  his  gray  hairs  had  been 
dishonoured,  and  striking  his  palm  upon  his  forehead. 
Nothing  could  move  him.  He,  also,  had  his  ambitions; 
it  was  his  dream  to  own  the  carpet-cleaning  establishment 
in  which  he  now  had  but  a  three-fourths  interest.  Sum 
mer  was  coming,  the  time  of  year  when  people  were  going 
into  the  country,  leaving  their  carpets  to  be  cleaned  in 
their  absence.  If  he  could  obtain  complete  ownership  of 
his  business  within  the  month  he  fancied  that  he  saw  an 
opportunity  to  make  more  money  than  he  had  done  before 
at  any  previous  season. 


256  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

"Why,  I  tell  you,  Mister  Geary,"  he  exclaimed  indig 
nantly,  wagging  his  head,  "it  would  seem  like  selling  my 
daughter's  honour  if  we  should  compromise  at  any  less 
figure.  I  am  a  father.  I  —  I  have  my  feelings,  haven't 
I?" 

"Well,  now,  it  isn't  like  that  at  all,  Mr.  WTade,"  an 
swered  Geary,  making  awkward  gestures  with  both  his 
hands.  "  It  isn't  what  we  ought  to  get  out  of  him.  Could 
any  sum  of  money,  could  millions  compensate  you  for 
Miss  Ida's  death?  I  guess  not.  It's  what  we  can  get. 
If  this  thing  comes  into  court  we  won't  get  but  five  thou 
sand  out  of  him;  I'll  tell  you  that  right  now.  He  could  raise 
that  by  a  mortgage,  easy;  but  if  we  compromise  we  can 
squeeze  him  for  eight  thousand.  You  see,  the  fact  that 
we  can  act  directly  with  him  instead  of  through  counsel 
makes  it  easier  for  us.  Of  course,  as  I  tell  you,  it  isn't 
just  the  legal  thing  to  do,  but  I'm  willing  to  do  it  for  you 
because  I  think  you've  been  wronged  and  outraged." 

Wade  struck  his  hand  to  his  head.  "I  tell  you,  he's 
brought  dishonour  upon  my  gray  hairs,"  he  exclaimed. 

"Exactly,  of  course,  I  understand  how  you  feel," 
replied  Geary,  "but  now  about  this  eight  thousand?  I 
tell  you  what  I'll  do."  He  had  resolved  to  stake  every 
thing  upon  one  last  hazard.  "See  here,  Mr.  Wade, 
there's  a  difference,  of  course,  between  eight  thousand  dol 
lars  and  ten  thousand,  but  the  use  of  money  is  worth 
something,  isn't  it?  And  money  down,  cold  hard  cash, 
is  worth  something,  isn't  it?  Well,  now,  suppose  you  got 
that  eight  thousand  dollars  money  down  within  three 
days?" 

Hiram  Wade  still  demurred  a  little  longer  for  the  sake 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  257 

of  his  own  self-respect  and  his  dishonoured  hairs,  but  in 
the  end  it  was  agreed  that  if  the  money  was  paid  over  to 
him  in  full  before  the  end  of  the  following  week  he  would 
be  content  and  would  agree  to  the  compromise.  Eight 
thousand  dollars  would  still  be  enough  to  buy  out  his 
partner's  interest,  and  even  then  he  would  have  a  little 
left  over  with  which  to  improve  a  certain  steaming  appa 
ratus.  If  the  amount  was  paid  in  full  within  a  week  he 
could  get  control  of  the  cleaning-works  in  time  to  catch 
all  of  the  summer  trade. 

Geary  had  calculated  that  this  last  argument  would 
have  its  weight;  the  great  difficulty  now  was  to  get  Van- 
dover  to  sell  at  such  a  low  figure  and  upon  such  short 
notice.  He  almost  despaired  of  his  success  in  this  quar 
ter;  however,  it  all  depended  upon  Vandover  now. 

Early  in  the  forenoon  of  the  next  day  Geary  pounded 
on  the  door  of  Vandover's  sitting-room,  pushing  it  open 
without  waiting  for  an  answer.  Vandover  was  lying  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  on  the  corduroy  divan  under  the  huge 
rug  of  sombre  colours  that  hung  against  the  wall,  and 
he  did  not  get  up  as  Geary  came  in;  in  fact,  he  hardly 
stirred. 

"Hello!"  cried  Geary,  closing  the  door  with  his  heel. 
"Didn't  expect  to  find  you  up  so  early.  I've  been  up 
since  half -past  six;  had  breakfast  at  seven,  fine  cutlet, 
and  then  got  down  to  the  office  at  twenty  minutes  of  eight. 
How's  that  for  rustling,  hey  ?  " 

"Yes?"  said  Vandover,  dully. 

"But,  say,"  exclaimed  Geary,  "what's  all  the  matter 
with  you?  You  look  all  frazzled  out,  all  pale  around  the 
wattles.  Ah,  you've  been  hitting  up  a  pace  again.  You're 


258  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

a  bird,  Van,  there's  no  use  talking!  All  night  racket  this 
trip?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  answered  Vandover,  never  moving. 

"But  you  do  look  gone-in  this  morning,  sure,"  continued 
Geary,  seating  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and  push 
ing  back  his  hat.  "Never  saw  you  looking  so  bad;  you 
ought  to  be  more  careful,  Van;  there'll  be  a  smash  some 
time.  Ah,  you  bet  a  man  ought  to  look  out  for  his  health. 
I  walk  downtown  every  morning,  and  three  times  a  week 
I  take  a  cold  shower  as  soon  as  I  get  up.  Ah,  I  tell 
you,  that  braces  a  fellow  up;  you  ought  to  try  it;  it's  better 
than  a  dozen  cocktails.  You  keep  on  getting  thin  like 
you  have  for  the  past  few  days  and  I'll  have  to  be  calling 
you  Skinny  Seldom-fed  again,  like  we  used  to.  Now,  tell 
the  truth,  what  time  did  you  get  to  bed  last  night?  Did 
you  go  to  bed  at  all?  " 

"No,"  replied  Vandover  with  a  long  breath,  looking 
vaguely  at  the  pipe-rack  on  the  opposite  wall. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  answered  Geary.  "Well,  that's 
like  you."  He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  went  on,  ner 
vously  gesturing  with  both  his  hands  simultaneously. 
"Well,  I've  had  a  long  talk  with  Wade.  I  tell  you,  Van, 
that  old  boy  is  as  stubborn  as  a  mule.  You  see,  he  knows 
he's  got  a  case.  I  couldn't  talk  him  out  of  that.  I'll 
tell  you  how  it  is,"  continued  Geary,  preparing  to  spring 
another  mine;  "he's  found  a  letter  Ida  wrote  you  the 
day  before  she  killed  herself."  He  paused  to  watch 
the  effect  upon  Vandover.  Vandover  waited  for  him  to 
go  on,  but  seeing  that  he  did  not  and  that  he  expected  him 
to  say  something,  nodded  his  head  once  and  answered: 

"I  see." 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  259 

"Don't  you  know,  that  letter  that  she  wrote  to  you 
telling  you  how  it  was,  how  she  was  fixed?"  repeated 
Geary,  puzzled  and  irritated  at  Vandover's  indiffer 
ence. 

"I  know." 

"Well,  he's  got  it,  anyhow,"  pursued  Geary,  "and  of 
course  that  tells  against  you.  Well,  I  had  a  long  talk  with 
him  yesterday  afternoon  and  I  got  him  to  compromise. 
Of  course,  you  know  in  suits  like  this  one  a  party  sues  for  a 
great  deal  more  than  he  expects  to  get.  At  first  you  know 
he  said  twenty-five  thousand;  that  figure  was  decided 
upon  at  the  first  interview  he  had  with  us.  Of  course,  he 
could  never  get  judgment  for  that  much.  But  he  hung 
out  at  ten  thousand;  said  it  would  be  selling  his  daughter 
if  he  took  any  less.  Now  I  knew  you  couldn't  raise  that 
much  on  any  property  you  have,  especially  in  these  hard 
times "  Geary  paused  for  the  fraction  of  an  in 
stant;  he  had  thrown  out  the  last  remark  as  a  feeler,  to 
see  what  Vandover  would  say;  but  his  chum  said  nothing, 
staring  vaguely  at  the  opposite  wall,  merely  making  a 
faint  sign  to  show  that  he  understood,  closing  his  eyes  and 
bending  his  head.  "And  so,"  continued  the  other,  "I 
jewed  him  down,  and  what  do  you  suppose?  Well,  sir, 
from  twenty-five  thousand  I  brought  him  right  down  to, 
say,  eight  thousand.  I  could  see  that  he  had  some 
scheme  that  he  wants  to  go  into  right  away,  and  that  he 
wants  ready  money,  right  on  the  nail,  you  know,  to  carry 
it  through.  Ah,  you  bet,  I  was  clever  enough  to  see  that. 
I  waltzed  him  right  over  when  I  began  to  speak  of  ready 
money,  cash  down.  As  soon  as  he'd  squeal  I'd  spring  cold 
cash  on  him,  money  down,  and  he's  hit  gravel  like  an  os- 


260  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

trich.  Well,"  he  went  on  deliberately  after  a  pause, 
getting  up  from  the  table  and  standing  before  Vandover, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  "well,  I  think  that's  the  best  I 
can  do  for  you,  Van.  It's  a  good  deal  better  than  I  ex 
pected,  but  I've  done  the  best  I  could  for  you,  and  I  would 
advise  you  to  see  him  on  the  proposition." 

"  All  right,"  said  Vandover.     "  Go  ahead." 

Geary  was  perplexed.  "Well,  you  think  that's  a  good 
thing,  don't  you?  You  think  I've  done  my  best  for  you? 
You  see  it  as  I  do,  don't  you?" 

Vandover  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  other  wall, 
glancing  under  heavy  eyelids  at  Geary,  and  with  a  slight 
movement  of  his  head  and  shoulders  replied : 

"Of  course." 

"Have  you  got  the  money?"  asked  Geary  eagerly;  then, 
irritated  at  his  indiscretion,  hastened  to  interrupt  himself. 
"You  see,  he  hasn't  put  his  proposition  into  writing  yet, 
but  it's  like  this:  if  you  can  pay  him  eight  thousand  dol 
lars  in  cash  before  the  end  of  next  week  he'll  sign  a  docu 
ment  to  the  effect  that  he  is  satisfied." 

"I've  got  no  money,"  said  Vandover  quietly. 

"I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  have,"  said  Geary,  "but 
you  can  raise  it  somewhere.  You  had  better  close  with 
the  old  man  as  soon  as  you  can,  Van,  while  he's  in  the 
mood  for  it;  you'll  make  a  clear  two  thousand  by  it.  You 
can  see  that  as  well  as  I  can.  Now,  where  can  you  —  how 
is  your  property  fixed?  Let's  see!  Here's  the  statement 
you  made  to  me  the  other  day,"  continued  Geary,  drawing 
his  shorthand  notes  from  his  portfolio.  "How  about  this 
piece  on  California  Street,  the  one  that  you  have  rented, 
the  homestead,  you  know?" 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  261 

"Yes,  there's  that,"  answered  Vandover,  changing  the 
position  of  his  head  upon  his  clasped  hands. 

"But  that's  pretty  well  papered  up  already,"  returned 
Geary,  consulting  his  notes.  "You  couldn't  very  well 
raise  another  mortgage  on  that" 

"I'd  forgotten,"  answered  Vandover.  "There's  the 
block  in  the  Mission.  He  can  have  that." 

Geary  began  to  tremble  with  excitement.  It  looked  as 
though  he  might  be  able  to  make  the  deal  after  all.  But 
the  next  instant  he  grew  suspicious.  Vandover's  indif 
ference  puzzled  him.  Might  he  not  have  some  game  of 
his  own?  The  idea  of  playing  off  his  cleverness  against 
that  of  an  opponent  strung  his  nerves  in  an  instant;  the 
notion  of  an  impending  struggle  was  almost  an  inspiration, 
and  his  innate  desire  of  getting  the  better  of  a  competitor, 
even  though  it  was  his  closest  friend,  aroused  his  wits  and 
sharpened  his  faculties  like  a  stimulant.  He  had  no  hes 
itancy  in  sacrificing  his  chum.  It  was  business  now; 
friendship  ceased  to  be  a  factor  in  the  affair.  Ah,  Van  was 
going  to  be  foxy;  he'd  show  him  that  he  could  be  foxy,  too. 

"  He  can  have  it  ? "  echoed  Geary.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
sign  it  over  to  him  bodily?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  it  could  be  mortgaged,"  answered  Van 
dover. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  idea,"  returned  Geary.  "  You  want  me 
to  figure  that  out  for  you?  I  can  just  as  well  as  not.  Well, 
now,  let's  see,"  he  went  on,  settling  himself  at  the  desk, 
and  figuring  upon  a  sheet  of  Vandover's  stamped  letter- 
paper.  "The  banks  will  never  give  you  more  than  two 
thirds  of  the  appraised  value;  that's  as  much  as  we  can  ex 
pect;  that  would  come  to  —  well,  let's  see  —  that  would 


262  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

come  to  six  thousand  on  that  piece;  then  you  could  mort 
gage  something  else  to  make  up  the  difference." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  more  than  six  thousand?"  asked  Van- 
do  ver  with  a  little  show  of  interest.  "I  think  that  block 
has  been  appraised  at  something  over  twelve  thousand." 

"Ah,  yes,"  returned  Geary,  putting  his  chin  in  the  air, 
"that  was  your  agent's  valuation  five  years  ago;  but  you 
know  property  out  there,  in  fact,  property  all  over  the 
city,  what  they  call  inside  property,  has  been  going  right 
down  for  the  last  ten  years.  That's  what  I've  always  been 
telling  you.  You  couldn't  possibly  get  more  than  nine 
thousand  for  that  block  to-day.  You  see  the  railroad 
there  hurts  it." 

"I  suppose  so,"  replied  Vandover.  "I've  heard  the 
governor  say  as  much  in  his  time." 

"Of  course,"  exclaimed  Geary,  delighted  at  this  unex 
pected  turn. 

"Well,  then,  he  can  have  my  bonds,"  said  Vandover. 
"  I've  got  eighty-nine  hundred  in  bonds;  he  can  have  those. 
Let  him  have  anything  he  wants." 

"Oh,  don't  touch  your  bonds,"  answered  Geary. 
"Hang  on  to  those.  Bonds  are  always  good — U.  S.  bonds. 
You  don't  want  to  sell  those,  Van.  You  see,  the 
homestead  is  already  mortgaged.  And,  besides,  you 
know,  too,  that  the  banks  are  asking  an  awful  big  per  cent . 
for  mortgages  on  real  estate;  it's  seven  and  a  half  nowa 
days.  Don't  sell  your  bonds.  I'll  tell  you  why:  U.  S. 
bonds  are  always  good;  they  never  depreciate,  but  it's 
different  with  realty,  especially  in  this  city  just  now. 
It's  been  depreciating  ever  since  your  father's  time,  and 
it's  going  to  go  right  on  depreciating.  If  you  want  to 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  263 

sell  anything,  sell  your  realty  before  it  gets  any  lower. 
Now  you  don't  want  to  sell  your  home,  do  you?  You 
don't  like  that  idea.  You've  lived  there  so  long,  and  then 
what  would  you  do  with  the  furniture;  besides,  the  rent 
of  that,"  he  glanced  again  at  his  notes,  "is  bringing  you 
in  a  good  hundred  and  twenty-five  a  month.  If  you've 
got  to  sell  at  all,  why  not  sell  your  Mission  block?" 

"All  right,"  said  Vandover,  as  if  wearied  by  Geary's 
clamour,  "I'll  sign  it  over  to  him." 

"No,  that's  not  the  idea  at  all,"  Geary  insisted.  "He 
wants  the  ready  money;  he  don't  want  depreciated  real 
estate.  You'll  have  to  find  a  purchaser  in  the  next  week 
if  you  possibly  can  in  such  a  short  time,  and  make  over 
the  money  to  Wade.  But  if  you  can't  sell  in  that  time 
you  will  have  to  dig  up  ten  thousand  instead  of  eight. 
It's  a  hard  position  for  you,  Van;  it's  just  a  chance,  you 
know,  but  I  thought  I  would  give  you  the  benefit  of  that 
chance.  If  you  want  to  give  me  a  power  of  attorney  I'll 
try  and  sell  it  for  you." 

"I  guess  Brunt  would  do  that,"  replied  Vandover. 

"Yes,"  retorted  Geary,  watchful  as  a  lynx,  "but  they 
would  charge  you  a  big  commission.  Of  course  I  wouldn't 
think  of  asking  you  anything  more  than  the  actual  costs. 
I  am  afraid  that  they  would  try  to  sell  it  at  auction,  too, 
if  they  knew  you  had  to  realize  on  it  in  so  short  a  time,  and 
it  would  go  for  a  mere  song  then;  you  know  how  it  is." 

"I  thought,"  inquired  Vandover,  "that  you  wanted 
that  property." 

"Yes,"  replied  Geary,  hesitating,  "I  — I  did  want  to 
buy  it  of  you  once;  well,  for  that  matter  I  do  now.  But 
you  know  how  it  is  with  me." 


264  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

"I  might  as  well  sell  it  to  you  as  to  any  one  else,"  re 
turned  Vandover. 

"Well,  now,  it's  like  this,  Van,"  said  Geary.  "I  know 
that  block  is  worth  nine  thousand  dollars;  I  won't  deceive 
you.  But  I  can  only  give  you  eight  thousand  for  it. 
That's  all  the  money  I've  got.  But  I'm  not  going  to  take 
advantage  of  your  position  to  jew  you  down.  I  want  the 
block,  I'll  admit  that,  but  I'm  not  going  to  have  you  sac 
rifice  it  for  me,  or  for  any  one  else.  I  think  you  can  get 
nine  thousand  for  it.  I  know  you  could  if  we  had  a  little 
more  time,  and  I'm  not  sure  but  what  I  could  find  a  pur 
chaser  for  you  within  the  next  week  that  would  give  you 
nine  thousand." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care,  Charlie;  I'm  sick  of  everything; 
eight  thousand,  nine  thousand,  anything  you  like;  take 
it  at  your  own  figure." 

Geary  began  to  tremble  once  more,  and  this  time  his 
excitement  was  so  great  that  he  hardly  dared  to  trust 
himself  to  speak;  his  breath  grew  short,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  twitched  nervously,  and  curled  themselves  into 
fists,  his  heart  seemed  to  him  to  beat  high  in  his  throat; 
he  hesitated  long,  pretending  to  deliberate  as  he  steadied 
himself. 

Vandover  remained  silent,  his  hands  still  clasped  back 
of  his  head,  staring  at  the  opposite  wall  with  eyes  that  saw 
nothing.  The  little  clock  began  to  strike  ten. 

"I  don't  know,  Van,"  said  Geary;  "I  don't  like  to  do 
this,  and  yet  I  would  like  to  help  you  out  of  this  muss. 
You  see,  if  I  should  ever  benefit  by  the  property  you  would 
feel  as  though  I  had  taken  advantage  of  you  at  this  time 
and  worked  a  flim-flam  on  you!" 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  265 

"Oh,  I'll  look  out  for  that,"  returned  Vandover. 

"No,  no,  I  don't  feel  quite  right  about  it,"  answered 
Geary,  wagging  his  head  and  shutting  his  eyes.  "Better 
see  what  we  can  do  at  a  forced  sale." 

"Why,  don't  you  see  you  would  be  doing  me  a  favour?" 
said  Vandover  wearily.  "I  ask  you  to  buy  the  block. 
I  don't  care  what  your  figure  is ! " 

Once  more  Geary  hesitated,  for  the  last  time  going  over 
the  whole  deal  in  his  mind  from  beginning  to  end,  test 
ing  it,  looking  for  weak  points.  It  was  almost  perfect. 
Suppose  the  boot  and  shoe  people  did  not  buy  the  lot? 
He  could  resell  it  elsewhere,  even  below  its  appraised 
value  and  yet  make  money  by  the  transaction;  the  lot  was 
cheap  at  ten  thousand;  it  might  bring  twelve;  even  as  an 
ordinary,  legitimate  speculation  it  was  to  be  desired  at 
such  a  figure.  Suppose  the  boot  and  shoe  people  backed 
out  entirely,  suppose  even  he  could  not  find  another  pur 
chaser  for  the  property,  why,  then,  he  could  hold  on  to  it; 
the  income  from  the  rents  was  fully  10  per  cent,  of  the 
price  he  would  have  paid  for  it. 

"Well,  Van,"  he  said  at  last,  making  a  slow,  awkward 
gesture  with  his  left  hand,  all  the  fingers  extended,  "well, 
I'll  take  you  up  —  but  I  don't  feel  as  though  I  should 

"  He  suddenly  interrupted  himself  with  a  burst 

of  sincerity,  exclaiming:  "Sure,  old  man,  if  I  had  nine 
thousand  I'd  give  it  to  you  for  the  block,  that's  straight 
goods."  He  felt  that  he  was  conscientious  in  saying  this. 
It  was  true  he  would  have  given  nine  thousand  if  he  had 
had  it.  For  that  matter  he  might  have  given  ten  or 
twelve. 

"Can't  we  settle  the  whole  matter  to-day?"  said  Van- 


266  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

clover.  "  Right  here  —  now.  I'm  sick  of  it,  sick  of  every 
thing.  Let's  get  it  done  with." 

Geary  nearly  bounded  from  his  seat.  He  had  been 
wondering  how  he  might  accomplish  this  very  thing. 
"All  right,"  he  said  briskly,  "no  reason  in  waiting."  He 
had  seen  to  it  that  he  should  be  prepared  to  close  the  sale 
the  moment  that  Vandover  was  willing.  Long  ago,  when 
he  had  first  had  the  idea  of  buying  the  block,  he  had  spent 
a  day  in  the  offices  of  the  county  recorder,  the  tax  collector, 
and  the  assessor,  assuring  himself  of  the  validity  of  the 
title,  and  only  two  days  ago  he  had  gone  over  the  matter 
again  in  order  to  be  sure  that  no  encumbrances  had  been 
added  to  the  block  in  the  meanwhile.  He  found  nothing; 
the  title  was  clear. 

"Isn't  this  rather  rushing  the  thing  through?"  he  asked. 
"Maybe  you  might  regret  it  afterward.  Don't  you  want 
to  take  two  or  three  days  to  think  it  over?  " 

"No." 

"Sure  now?"  persisted  Geary. 

"But  I've  got  to  sell  before  three  days,"  answered  Van 
dover.  "Otherwise  he'll  want  ten  thousand." 

"That's  a  fact,"  admitted  the  other.  "Well,"  he  went 
on,  "  if  your  mind's  made  up,  why  —  we  can  go  right  ahead. 
As  I  say,  there's  no  reason  for  waiting;  better  take  up 
Wade  while  he's  in  the  mood  for  it.  You  see,  he  hasn't 
signed  any  proposition  as  yet,  and  he  might  go  back  on 
us."  Vandover  drew  a  long  breath  and  got  up  slowly, 
heavily,  from  the  couch,  saying: 

"  What's  the  odds  to  me  what  I  sell  for?  /  don't  get  the 
money." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  if  we  go  right  down  to  a  no- 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  267 

tary's  office  and  put  this  thing  right  through,"  Geary  sug 
gested. 

"Come  on,  then." 

"Have  you  got  your  abstract  here,  the  abstract  of  the 
block?  "  Vandover  nodded.  "  Better  bring  it  along,  then," 
said  Geary. 

The  office  of  the  notary  adjoined  those  of  the  firm  of 
Beale  &  Storey;  in  fact,  he  was  in  a  sense  an  attache  of 
the  great  firm  and  transacted  a  great  deal  of  legal  business 
for  them.  Vandover  and  Geary  fell  upon  him  in  an  idle 
moment.  A  man  had  come  to  regulate  the  water  filter, 
which  took  the  place  of  an  ice  cooler  in  a  corner  of  one  of 
the  anterooms,  and  while  he  was  engaged  at  his  work  the 
notary  stood  at  his  back,  abusing  him  and  exclaiming  at 
the  ineffectiveness  of  the  contrivance.  The  notary  was  a 
middle-aged  man  with  a  swollen,  purple  face;  he  had  a 
toothpick  behind  each  ear  and  wore  an  office  coat  of  gray 
linen,  ripped  at  the  shoulders. 

Then  the  transfer  was  made.  It  was  all  settled  in  less 
than  half  an  hour,  unceremoniously,  almost  hastily.  For 
the  sake  of  form  Geary  signed  a  check  for  eight  thousand 
dollars  which  Vandover  in  his  turn  made  over  to  Hiram 
Wade.  The  notary  filled  out  a  deed  of  grant,  bargain, 
and  sale,  pasting  on  his  certificate  of  acknowledgment  as 
soon  as  Vandover  and  Geary  had  signed.  Geary  took 
the  abstract,  thrusting  it  into  his  breast-pocket.  As 
far  as  Vandover  was  concerned,  the  sale  was  complete, 
but  he  had  neither  his  property  nor  its  equivalent  in 
money. 

"Well,"  declared  Geary  at  length,  "I  guess  that's  all 
there  is  to  be  done.  I'll  get  a  release  from  old  man  Wade 


268  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

and  send  it  to  you  to-morrow  or  next  day.  Now,  let's 
go  down  to  the  Imperial  and  have  a  drink  on  it."  They 
went  out,  but  the  notary  returned  to  the  anteroom,  turn 
ing  the  spigot  of  the  filter  to  right  and  left,  frowning  at  it 
suspiciously,  refusing  to  be  satisfied. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

THAT  particular  room  in  the  Lick  House  was  well 
toward  the  rear  of  the  building,  on  one  of  the  upper  floors, 
and  from  its  window,  one  looked  out  upon  a  vast  reach  of 
roofs  that  rose  little  by  little  to  meet  the  abrupt  rise  of 
Telegraph  Hill.  It  was  a  sordid  and  grimy  wilderness, 
topped  with  a  gray  maze  of  wires  and  pierced  with  thou 
sands  of  chimney  stacks.  Many  of  the  roofs  were  covered 
with  tin  long  since  blackened  by  rust  and  soot.  Here  and 
there  could  be  seen  clothes  hung  out  to  dry.  Occasionally 
upon  the  flanking  walls  of  some  of  the  larger  buildings  was 
displayed  an  enormous  painted  sign,  a  violent  contrast  of 
intense  black  and  staring  white  amidst  the  sooty  brown 
and  gray,  advertising  some  tobacco,  some  newspaper,  or 
some  department  store.  Not  far  in  the  distance  two  tall 
smokestacks  of  blackened  tin  rose  high  in  the  air,  above 
the  roof  of  a  steam  laundry,  one  very  large  like  the  stack 
of  a  Cunarder,  the  other  slender,  graceful,  with  a  funnel- 
shaped  top.  All  day  and  all  night  these  stacks  were 
smoking;  from  the  first,  the  larger  one,  rolled  a  heavy  black 
smoke,  very  gloomy,  waving  with  a  slow  and  continued 
movement  like  the  plume  of  some  sullen  warrior.  But  the 
other  one,  the  tall  and  slender  pipe,  threw  off  a  series  of 
little  white  puffs,  three  at  a  time,  that  rose  buoyant  and 
joyous  into  the  air  like  so  many  white  doves,  vanishing  at 
last,  melting  away  in  the  higher  sunshine,  only  to  be  fol- 


270  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

lowed  by  another  flight.  They  came  three  at  a  time,  the 
pipe  tossing  them  out  with  a  sharp  gay  sound  like  a  note 
of  laughter  interrupted  by  a  cough. 

But  the  interior  of  the  room  presented  the  usual  dreary 
aspect  of  the  hotel  bedroom  — •  cheerless,  lamentable. 

The  walls  were  whitewashed  and  bare  of  pictures  or 
ornaments,  and  the  floor  was  covered  with  a  dull  red  car 
pet.  The  furniture  was  a  "set,"  all  the  pieces  having  a 
family  resemblance.  On  entering,  one  saw  the  bed  stand 
ing  against  the  right-hand  wall,  a  huge  double  bed  with  the 
name  of  the  hotel  in  the  corners  of  its  spread  and  pillow 
cases.  In  the  exact  middle  of  the  room  underneath  the  gas 
fixture  was  the  centre-table,  and  upon  it  a  pitcher  of  ice- 
water.  The  blank,  white  monotony  of  one  side  of  the  room 
was  jarred  upon  by  the  grate  and  mantelpiece,  iron,  painted 
black,  while  on  the  mantelpiece  itself  stood  a  little  porce 
lain  matchsafe  with  ribbed  sides  in  the  form  of  a  truncated 
cone.  Precisely  opposite  the  chimney  was  the  bureau, 
flanked  on  one  side  by  the  door  of  the  closet,  and  on  the 
other  in  the  corner  of  the  room  by  the  stationary  wash- 
stand  with  its  new  cake  of  soap  and  its  three  clean,  glossy 
towels.  On  the  wall  to  the  left  of  the  door  was  the  electric 
bell  and  the  directions  for  using  it,  and  tacked  upon  the 
door  itself  a  card  as  to  the  hours  for  meals,  the  rules  of  the 
hotel,  and  the  extract  of  the  code  defining  the  liabilities 
of  innkeepers,  all  printed  in  bright  red.  Everything  was 
clean,  defiantly,  aggressively  clean,  and  there  was  a  clean 
smell  of  new  soap  in  the  air. 

But  the  room  was  bare  of  any  personality.  Of  the 
hundreds  who  had  lived  there,  perhaps  suffered  and  died 
there,  not  a  trace,  not  a  suggestion  remained;  their  differ- 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  271 

ent  characters  had  not  left  the  least  impress  upon  its  air  or 
appearance.  Only  a  few  hairpins  were  scattered  on  the  bot 
tom  of  one  of  the  bureau  drawers,  and  two  forgotten  medi 
cine  bottles  still  remained  upon  the  top  shelf  of  the  closet. 

This  had  been  the  appearance  of  Vandover's  new  home 
when  he  had  first  come  to  it,  after  leaving  his  suite  of 
rooms  in  the  huge  apartment  house  on  Sutter  Street.  He 
had  lived  here  now  for  something  over  a  year. 

It  had  all  commenced  with  the  seizure  of  his  furniture 
by  the  proprietors  of  the  apartment  house.  Almost  be 
fore  he  knew  it  he  owed  for  six  months'  room  and  board; 
when  the  extras  were  added  to  this  bill  it  swelled  to  nearly 
a  thousand  dollars.  At  first  he  would  not  believe  it;  it 
was  not  possible  that  so  large  a  bill  could  accumulate  with 
out  his  knowledge.  He  declared  there  was  a  mistake, 
tossing  back  the  bill  to  the  clerk  who  had  presented  it, 
and  shaking  his  head  incredulously.  This  other  became 
angry,  offered  to  show  the  books  of  the  house.  The 
manager  was  called  in  and  attempted  to  prove  the  clerk's 
statement  by  figures,  dates,  and  extracts  from  the  entries. 
Vandover  was  confused  by  their  noise,  and  grew  angry  in 
his  turn;  vociferating  that  he  did  not  propose  to  be 
cheated,  the  others  retorted  in  a  rage,  the  interview 
ended  in  a  scene. 

But  in  the  end  they  gained  their  point;  they  were  right, 
and  at  length  Vandover  was  brought  around  to  see  that  he 
was  in  the  wrong,  but  he  had  no  ready  money,  and  while 
he  hesitated,  unwilling  to  part  with  any  of  his  bonds  or  to 
put  an  additional  mortgage  upon  the  homestead,  the 
hotel,  after  two  warnings,  suddenly  seized  upon  his  fur 
niture.  What  a  misery! 


272  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

In  a  moment  of  time  it  was  all  taken  from  him,  all  the 
lovely  bric-a-brac,  all  the  heavy  pieces,  all  the  little  ar 
ticles  of  vertu  which  he  had  bought  with  such  intense 
delight  and  amongst  which  he  had  lived  with  such  hap 
piness,  such  contentment,  such  never-failing  pleasure. 
Everything  went  —  the  Renaissance  portraits,  the  pipe- 
rack,  the  chair  in  which  the  Old  Gentleman  had  died,  the 
Assyrian  bas-reliefs  and,  worst  of  all,  the  stove,  the  famous 
tiled  stove,  the  delightful  cheery  iron  stove  with  the  beau 
tiful  flamboyant  ornaments.  For  the  first  few  months 
after  the  seizure  Vandover  was  furious  with  rage  and  dis 
appointment,  persuaded  that  he  could  never  live  any 
where  but  in  just  such  a  room;  it  was  as  if  he  had  been 
uprooted  and  cast  away  upon  some  barren,  uncongenial 
soil.  His  new  room  in  the  hotel  filled  him  with  horror, 
and  for  a  long  time  he  used  it  only  as  a  place  where  he 
could  sleep  and  wash.  For  a  long  time  even  his  pliable 
character  refused  to  fit  itself  to  such  surroundings,  refused 
to  be  content  between  four  enormous  white  walls,  a  stuc 
coed  ceiling,  and  a  dark  red  carpet.  He  passed  most  of  his 
time  elsewhere,  reading  the  papers  at  the  Mechanics 
Library  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  afternoon  sitting  about 
the  hotel  office  and  parlours  until  it  was  time  to  take  his 
usual  little  four  o'clock  stroll  on  Kearney  and  Market 
streets.  He  had  long  since  become  a  familiar  figure  on 
this  promenade.  Even  the  women  and  girls  of  Flossie's 
type  had  ceased  to  be  interested  in  this  tall,  thin  young 
man  with  the  tired,  heavy  eyes  and  blue-white  face.  One 
day,  however,  a  curious  incident  did  for  a  moment  invest 
Vandover  with  a  sudden  dramatic  interest.  It  was  just 
after  he  had  moved  down  to  the  Lick  House,  about  a 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  273 

month  after  he  had  sold  the  block  in  the  Mission.  Van- 
dover  was  standing  at  Lotta's  fountain  at  the  corner  of 
Kearney  and  Market  streets,  interested  in  watching  a 
policeman  and  two  boys  reharnessing  a  horse  after  its 
tumble.  All  at  once  he  fell  over  flat  into  the  street, 
jostling  one  of  the  flower  venders  and  nearly  upsetting 
him.  He  struck  the  ground  with  a  sodden  shock,  his  arms 
doubled  under  him,  his  hat  rolling  away  into  the  mud. 
Bewildered,  he  picked  himself  up;  very  few  had  seen  him 
fall,  but  a  little  crowd  gathered  for  all  that.  One  asked 
if  the  man  was  drunk,  and  Vandover,  terrified  lest  the 
policeman  should  call  the  patrol  wagon,  hurried  off  to  a 
basement  barber  shop  near  by,  where  he  brushed  his 
clothes,  still  bewildered,  confused,  wondering  how  it  had 
happened. 

The  fearful  nervous  crisis  which  Vandover  had  under 
gone  had  passed  off  slowly.  Little  by  little,  bit  by  bit, 
he  had  got  himself  in  hand  again.  However,  the  queer 
numbness  in  his  head  remained,  and  as  soon  as  he  concen 
trated  his  attention  on  any  certain  line  of  thought,  as 
soon  as  he  had  read  for  any  length  of  time,  especially  if 
late  at  night,  the  numbness  increased.  Somewhere  back 
of  his  eyes  a  strange  blurring  mist  would  seem  to  rise; 
he  would  find  it  impossible  to  keep  his  mind  fixed  upon 
any  subject;  the  words  of  a  printed  page  would  little  by 
little  lose  their  meaning.  At  first  this  had  been  a  source 
of  infinite  terror  to  him.  He  fancied  it  to  be  the  symp 
toms  of  some  approaching  mental  collapse,  but,  as  the 
weeks  went  by  and  nothing  unusual  occurred,  he  became 
used  to  it,  and  refused  to  let  it  worry  him.  If  it  made  his 
head  feel  queer  to  read,  the  remedy  was  easy  enough  — 


274  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

he  simply  would  not  read;  and  though  he  had  been  a  great 
reader,  and  at  one  time  had  been  used  to  spend  many 
delightful  afternoons  lost  in  the  pages  of  a  novel,  he  now 
gave  it  all  up  with  an  easy  indifference. 

But,  besides  all  this,  the  attack  had  left  him  with  nerves 
all  unstrung;  even  his  little  afternoon  walk  on  Kearney 
and  Market  streets  exhausted  him;  any  trifling  and  sudden 
noise,  the  closing  of  a  door,  the  striking  of  a  clock,  would 
cause  him  to  start  from  his  place  with  a  gasp  and  a  quick 
catch  at  the  heart.  Toward  evening  this  little  spasm  of 
nerves  would  sometimes  come  upon  him  even  when  there 
was  nothing  to  cause  it,  and  now  he  could  no  longer  drop 
off  to  sleep  without  first  undergoing  a  whole  series  of 
these  recoils  and  starts,  that  would  sometimes  bring  him 
violently  up  to  a  sitting  posture,  his  breath  coming  short 
and  quick,  his  heart  galloping,  startled  at  he  knew  not 
what. 

At  first  he  had  intended  to  see  a  doctor,  but  he  had  put 
off  carrying  his  intention  into  effect  until  he  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  whole  matter;  otherwise,  he  was  well 
enough,  his  appetite  was  good,  and  when  he  finally  did 
get  to  sleep  he  would  not  wake  up  for  a  good  eight  hours. 

One  evening,  however,  about  three  months  after  the 
first  crisis  and  just  as  Vandover  was  becoming  well  ac 
customed  to  the  condition  of  body  and  mind  in  which  it 
had  left  him,  the  second  attack  came  on.  It  was  fearful, 
much  worse  than  on  the  first  occasion,  and  this  time  there 
was  no  room  for  doubt.  Vandover  knew  that  for  the 
moment  he  was  actually  insane. 

Ellis  had  been  with  Vandover  most  of  that  afternoon,  the 
two  had  been  playing  cards  in  Vand over's  room  until  nearly 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  275 

six  o'clock.  All  the  afternoon  they  had  been  drinking 
whisky  while  they  played,  and  by  supper-time  neither  of 
them  had  any  appetite.  Ellis  refused  to  go  down,  declar 
ing  that  if  he  should  eat  now  it  would  make  him  sick. 
Vandover  went  down  alone,  but  once  in  the  dining-room 
he  found  that  he  could  not  eat  either.  However,  he  knew 
that  it  was  not  the  whisky.  For  two  days  his  appetite 
had  been  failing  him.  The  smell  of  food  revolted  him, 
and  he  left  the  supper-table,  going  up  to  his  bare  and 
lamentable  room  with  the  feeling  that  he  was  about  to 
undergo  a  long  spell  of  sickness.  In  the  deserted  hall, 
between  the  elevator  and  the  door  of  his  room,  the  second 
crisis  came  upon  him  all  at  once.  It  was  so  sudden  that 
it  was  as  if  some  enemy  had  leaped  upon  his  back,  spring 
ing  out  of  the  shadow,  gripping  him  from  behind,  holding 
him  close.  Once  more  the  hysteria  shook  him  like  a  dry 
leaf.  The  little  nervous  starts  came  so  fast  that  they  ran 
together,  mingling  to  form  one  long  thrill  of  terror,  the 
blind,  unreasoning  terror  of  something  unknown;  the 
numbness  weighed  down  upon  his  brain  until  conscious 
ness  dwindled  to  a  mere  point  and  mercifully  dulled  the 
torture  of  his  crisping  nerves.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his 
hands  and  head  were  rapidly  swelling  to  enormous  size. 

All  this  he  had  felt  before;  it  was  his  old  enemy,  but  now 
with  this  second  attack  began  a  new  and  even  stranger 
sensation.  In  his  distorted  wits  he  fancied  that  he  was 
in  some  manner  changing,  that  he  was  becoming  another 
man;  worse  than  that,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  no 
longer  human,  that  he  was  sinking,  all  in  a  moment,  to  the 
level  of  some  dreadful  beast. 

Later  on  in  that  same  evening  Ellis  met  young  Haight 


276  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

coming  out  of  one  of  the  theatres,  and  told  him  a  story 
that  Haight  did  not  believe.  Ellis  was  very  pale,  and  he 
seemed  to  young  Haight  to  be  trying  to  keep  down  some 
tremendous  excitement. 

"If  he  was  drunk,"  said  Ellis,  "it  was  the  strangest 
drunk  I  ever  saw.  He  came  back  into  the  room  on  all 
fours  —  not  on  his  hands  and  knees,  you  understand,  but 
running  along  the  floor  upon  the  palms  of  his  hands  and  his 
toes  —  and  he  pushed  the  door  of  the  room  open  with  his 
head,  nuzzling  at  the  crack  like  any  dog.  Oh,  it  was  hor 
rible.  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  Van.  You 
should  have  seen  him;  his  head  was  hanging  way  down, 
and  swinging  from  side  to  side  as  he  came  along;  it  shook 
all  his  hair  over  his  eyes.  He  kept  rattling  his  teeth 
together,  and  every  now  and  then  he  would  say,  way  down 
in  his  throat  so  it  sounded  like  growls,  '  Wolf  —  wolf  — 
wolf.'  I  got  hold  of  him  and  pulled  him  up  to  his  feet. 
It  was  just  as  though  he  was  asleep,  and  when  I  shook  him 
he  came  to  all  at  once  and  began  to  laugh.  *  What's  the 
matter,  Van?'  says  I.  'What  are  you  crawling  on  the 
floor  that  way  for?'  'I'm  damned  if  I  know,'  says  he, 
rubbing  his  eyes.  'I  guess  I  must  have  been  out  of  my 
head.  Too  much  whisky ! '  Then  he  says :  '  Put  me  to 
bed,  will  you,  Bandy?  I  feel  all  gone  in.'  Well,  I  put 
him  to  bed  and  went  out  to  get  some  bromide  of  potassium; 
he  said  that  made  him  sleep  and  kept  his  nerves  steady. 
Coming  back,  I  met  a  bell-boy  just  outside  of  Van's  door, 
and  told  him  to  ask  the  hotel  doctor  to  come  up.  You 
see,  I  had  not  opened  the  door  of  the  room  yet,  and  while 
I  was  talking  to  the  bell-boy  I  could  hear  the  sound  of 
something  four-footed  going  back  and  forth  inside  the 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  277 

room.  When  I  got  inside  there  was  Van,  perfectly  naked, 
going  back  and  forth  along  the  wall,  swinging  his  head 
very  low,  grumbling  to  himself.  But  he  came  to  again  as 
soon  as  I  shook  him,  and  seemed  dreadfully  ashamed,  and 
went  to  bed  all  right.  He  got  to  sleep  finally,  and  I  left 
the  doctor  with  him,  to  come  out  and  get  something  for  my 
own  nerves." 

"What  did  the  doctor  say  was  the  matter?"  asked 
young  Haight,  in  horror. 

"  Lycanthropy-Mathesis.  I  never  heard  the  name  be 
fore  —  some  kind  of  nervous  disease.  I  guess  Van  had 
been  hitting  up  a  pretty  rapid  gait,  and  then  I  suppose 
he's  had  a  good  deal  to  worry  him,  too." 

Once  more  the  attack  passed  off,  leaving  Vandover 
exhausted,  his  nerves  all  jangling,  his  health  impaired. 
Every  day  he  seemed  to  grow  thinner,  great  brown  hol 
lows  grew  under  his  eyes,  and  the  skin  of  his  forehead 
looked  blue  and  tightly  drawn.  By  degrees  a  deep  gloom 
overcame  him  permanently,  nothing  could  interest  him, 
nothing  seemed  worth  while.  Not  only  were  his  nerves 
out  of  tune,  but  they  were  jaded,  deadened,  slack;  they 
were  like  harpstrings  that  had  been  played  upon  so  long 
and  so  violently  that  now  they  could  no  longer  vibrate 
unless  swept  with  a  very  whirlwind. 

As  he  had  foreseen,  Vandover  had  returned  again  to 
vice,  to  the  vice  that  was  knitted  into  him  now,  fibre  for 
fibre,  to  the  ways  of  the  brute  that  by  degrees  was  taking 
entire  possession  of  him.  But  he  no  longer  found  pleas 
ure  even  in  vice;  once  it  had  been  his  amusement,  now  it 
was  his  occupation.  It  was  the  only  thing  that  seemed 


278  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

to  ease  the  horrible  nervousness  that  of  late  had  begun  to 
upon  him  constantly. 


V  But  though  nothing  could  amuse  him,  on  the  other  hand 
no\hing  could  worry  him;  in  the  end  the  very  riot  of  his 
nerves  ceased  even  to  annoy  him.  He  had  arrived  at  a 
state  of  absolute  indifference.  He  had  so  often  rear 
ranged  his  pliable  nature  to  suit  his  changing  environment 
that  at  last  he  found  that  he  could  be  content  in  almost  any 
circumstances.  He  had  no  pleasures,  no  cares,  no  am 
bitions,  no  regrets,  no  hopes.  It  was  mere  passive  exist 
ence,  an  inert,  plantlike  vegetation,  the  moment's  pause 
before  the  final  decay,  the  last  inevitable  rot. 

One  day  after  he  had  been  living  nearly  a  year  at  the 
Lick  House,  Adams  &  Brunt,  the  real  estate  agents,  sent 
him  word  that  they  had  an  offer  for  his  property  on  Cal 
ifornia  Street.  It  was  the  homestead.  The  English 
gentleman,  the  president  of  the  fruit  syndicate  who  had 
rented  the  house  of  Vandover,  was  now  willing  to  buy  it. 
His  business  was  by  this  time  on  a  firm  and  paying  basis 
and  he  had  decided  to  make  his  home  in  San  Francisco. 
He  offered  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  for  the  house, 
including  the  furniture. 

Brunt  had  several  talks  with  Vandover  and  easily  in 
duced  him  to  sell.  "You  can  figure  it  out  for  yourself, 
Mr.  Vandover,"  he  said,  as  he  pointed  out  his  own  cal 
culations  to  him;  "property  has  been  going  down  in  the 
city  for  the  last  ten  years,  and  it  will  continue  to  do  so 
until  we  can  get  a  competing  railroad  through.  Better 
sell  when  you  can,  and  twenty-five  thousand  is  a  fair 
price.  Of  course,  you  will  have  to  pay  off  the  mortgage; 
you  won't  get  but  about  fifteen  thousand  out  of  it,  but  at 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  279 

the  same  time  you  won't  have  to  pay  the  interest  on  that 
mortgage  to  the  banks;  that  will  be  so  much  saved  a 
month;  add  that  to  what  you  could  get  for  your  fifteen 
thousand  at,  say,  6  per  cent.,  and  you  would  have  a  monthly 
income  nearly  equal  to  the  present  rent  of  the  house,  and 
much  more  certain,  too.  Suppose  your  tenant  should  go 
out,  then  where  would  you  be?" 

"All  right,  all  right,"  answered  Vandover,  nodding  his 
head  vaguely.  "Go  ahead,  /  don't  care."  He  parted 
from  his  old  home  with  as  much  indifference  as  he  had 
parted  from  his  block  in  the  Mission. 

Vandover  signed  the  deed  that  made  him  homeless, 
and  at  about  the  same  time  the  first  payment  was  made. 
Ten  thousand  dollars  was  deposited  in  one  of  the  banks 
to  his  credit,  and  a  check  sent  to  him  for  the  amount.  The 
very  next  day  Vandover  drew  against  it  for  five  hundred 
dollars. 

At  one  time  he  had  had  an  ambition  to  buy  back  his 
furniture  from  the  huge  apartment  house  in  which  he  had 
formerly  lived,  and  with  it  to  make  his  cheerless  bedroom 
in  the  Lick  House  seem  more  like  a  home.  He  felt  it 
almost  as  a  dishonour  to  have  strangers  using  this  furni 
ture,  sitting  in  the  great  leather  chair  in  which  the  Old 
Gentleman  had  died,  staring  stupidly  at  his  Renaissance 
portraits  and  copies  of  Assyrian  bas-reliefs.  Above  all, 
it  was  torture  to  think  that  other  hands  than  his  own 
would  tend  the  famous  tiled  and  flamboyant  stove,  a 
stove  that  had  its  moods,  its  caprices,  like  any  living 
person,  a  stove  that  had  to  be  coaxed  and  humoured,  a 
stove  that  he  alone  could  understand.  He  had  told  him 
self  that  if  ever  again  he  should  have  money  enough  he 


280  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

would  bring  back  this  furniture  to  him.  At  first  its  ab 
sence  had  been  a  matter  for  the  keenest  regret  and  grief. 
He  had  been  so  used  to  pleasant  surroundings  that  he 
languished  in  his  new  quarters  as  in  a  prison.  His  indul 
gent,  luxurious  character  continually  hungered  after  sub 
dued,  harmonious  colours,  pictures,  ornaments,  and  soft 
rugs.  His  imagination  was  forever  covering  the  white 
walls  with  rough  stone-blue  paper,  and  placing  screens, 
divans,  and  window-seats  in  different  parts  of  the  cold  bare 
room.  One  morning  he  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  pin 
about  the  walls  little  placards  which  he  had  painted 
with  a  twisted  roll  of  the  hotel  letter-paper  dipped  into 
the  ink-stand.  "Pipe-rack  Here."  "Mona  Lisa  Here." 
"Stove  Here."  "Window-seat  Here."  He  had  left 
them  up  there  ever  since,  in  spite  of  the  chambermaid's 
protests  and  Ellis'  clumsy  satire. 

Now,  however,  he  had  plenty  of  money.  He  would 
have  his  furniture  back  within  the  week.  He  came  back 
from  the  bank,  the  money  in  his  pocket,  and  went  up  to 
the  room  directly,  with  some  vague  intention  of  writing 
to  the  proprietors  of  the  apartment  house  at  once.  But 
as  he  shut  the  door  behind  him,  leaning  his  back  against 
it  and  looking  about,  he  suddenly  realized  that  his  old- 
time  desire  was  passed;  he  had  become  so  used  to  these 
surroundings  that  it  now  no  longer  made  any  difference 
to  him  whether  or  not  they  were  cheerless,  lamentable, 
barren.  It  was  like  all  his  other  little  ambitions  —  he  had 
lost  the  taste  for  them,  nothing  made  much  difference 
after  all.  His  money  had  come  too  late. 

Why  should  he  spend  his  five  hundred  dollars  on  some 
thing  that  could  no  longer  amuse  him?  It  would  be  much 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  281 

wiser  to  spend  it  all  in  having  a  good  time  somewhere  — 
champagne  dinners  with  Flossie,  or  betting  on  the  races 
—  he  did  not  know  exactly  what.  It  was  true  that  even 
these  alternatives  would  not  amuse  him  very  much  —  he 
would  fall  back  upon  them  as  things  of  habit.  For  that 
matter  everything  was  an  ennui,  and  Vandover  began  to 
long  for  some  new  pleasure,  some  violent  untried  excite 
ment. 

Since  the  sale  of  the  block  in  the  Mission  he  had  seen 
but  little  of  Geary;  young  Haight  had  not  been  his  com 
panion  since  the  time  when  Turner  Ravis  had  broken  with 
him,  but  little  by  little  he  had  begun  to  associate  with 
Ellis  and  his  friend  the  Dummy.  Almost  every  evening 
the  three  were  together,  sometimes  at  the  theatre,  some 
times  in  the  back  rooms  of  the  Imperial,  sometimes  even 
in  the  parlours  of  certain  houses,  amid  the  murmur  of 
heavy  silks  and  the  rustle  of  stiffly  starched  skirts.  At 
times  they  would  be  drunk  four  nights  of  the  week,  and 
on  these  occasions  it  was  tacitly  understood  between 
Ellis  and  Vandover  that  they  should  try  to  get  the  Dummy 
so  full  that  he  could  talk. 

However,  Ellis'  vice  was  gambling;  he  and  the  Dummy 
often  passed  the  whole  night  over  their  cards,  and  as 
Vandover  came  more  and  more  under  Ellis'  influence  — 
succumbing  to  it  as  weakly  as  he  had  succumbed  to  the 
influence  of  Charlie  Geary  —  he  began  to  join  these  par 
ties.  They  played  Van  John  at  five  dollars  a  corner. 
Vandover  won  as  often  as  he  lost,  but  the  habit  of  cards 
grew  upon  him  steadily. 

Toward  eleven  o'clock  the  evening  of  the  day  upon 
which  he  had  drawn  his  five  hundred,  Vandover  went 


282  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

around  to  the  Imperial  looking  for  his  two  friends.  He 
found  Ellis  drinking  whisky  all  alone  in  one  of  the  little 
rooms,  as  was  his  custom;  fifteen  minutes  later  the  Dummy 
and  Flossie  joined  them.  Flossie  had  grown  stouter  since 
Vandover  had  first  known  her,  nearly  ten  years  ago.  She 
had  a  double  chin,  and  puffy,  discoloured  pockets  had 
come  under  her  eyes.  Now  her  hair  was  dyed,  her  cheeks 
and  lips  rouged,  and  her  former  air  of  health  and  good 
spirits  gone.  She  never  laughed.  She  had  smoked  so 
many  cigarettes  that  now  her  voice  hardly  rose  above  a 
whisper.  At  one  time  she  had  been  accustomed  to  boast 
that  she  never  drank,  and  it  had  been  one  of  her  pecul 
iarities  for  which  she  was  well  known.  But  on  this  occa 
sion  she  joined  Ellis  in  his  whisky.  She  had  long  since 
departed  from  her  old-time  rule  of  temperance,  and  nowa 
days  drank  nothing  else  but  whisky.  She  had  even  be 
come  well  known  for  the  quantity  of  whisky  she  could  drink. 

For  half  an  hour  the  four  sat  around  the  little  table, 
talking  about  the  new,  enormous  Sutro  Baths  that  were 
building  at  that  time.  After  a  while  Flossie  left  them,  and 
the  Dummy  began  to  imitate  the  motions  of  some  one 
dealing  cards,  looking  at  the  same  time  inquiringly  into 
their  faces. 

"How  about  that,  Bandy?"  asked  Vandover.  "Shall 
we  have  a  game  to-night?  " 

The  man  of  few  words  merely  nodded  his  head  and 
drank  off  the  rest  of  his  whisky  at  a  swallow.  They  all 
went  up  to  Vandover's  room.  Vandover  got  out  the  cards, 
the  celluloid  chips,  and  a  fresh  box  of  cigars.  The  Dummy 
held  up  two  fingers  of  his  left  hand,  shutting  them  to 
gether  afterward  with  his  right  and  making  a  hissing 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  283 

noise  between  his  teeth.  He  raised  his  eyebrows  at  Van- 
dover.  Vandover  understood,  and,  ringing  for  a  bell-boy, 
ordered  up  three  bottles  of  soda  in  siphon  bottles. 

The  game  was  vingt  et  un,  or,  as  they  called  it,  Van 
John.  They  cut  for  banker.  Ellis  turned  the  first  ace, 
and  Vandover  bought  the  bank  from  him.  For  the  first 
hour  they  were  very  jolly,  laughing  and  talking  back  and 
forth  at  each  other;  the  Dummy  especially  communica 
tive,  continually  scribbling  upon  his  writing-pad,  holding 
it  toward  the  others.  But  it  was  not  necessary  for  them 
to  put  their  replies  in  writing  —  he  understood  from  watch 
ing  the  movement  of  their  lips.  The  luck  had  not  de 
clared  itself  as  yet;  none  of  them  had  lost  or  won  very 
much.  The  bell-boy  brought  up  the  siphons.  The 
Dummy  took  off  his  coat,  and  the  other  two  followed  his 
example.  They  were  all  smoking,  and  an  acrid  blue 
haze  filled  the  room,  making  a  golden  blur  about  each  gas 
globe. 

But  little  by  little  the  passion  of  the  gambling  seized 
upon  them.  The  luck  had  begun  to  declare  itself,  alter 
nating  between  Ellis  and  the  Dummy.  Vandover  lost 
steadily;  twice  already  his  bank  had  been  broken,  and  he 
had  been  forced  to  buy  in.  The  play  resolved  itself  into 
two  parts,  Vandover  struggling  to  keep  up  with  the  game 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  a  great  battle  going  on  be 
tween  Ellis  and  the  Dummy.  Long  since  they  had  ceased 
to  laugh,  and  not  a  word  was  spoken;  each  one  was  ab 
sorbed  in  the  game,  intently  watching  the  cards  as  they 
were  turned.  The  four  gas-jets  of  the  chandelier  flared 
steadily,  filling  the  room  with  a  crude  raw  light  that  was 
reflected  with  a  blinding  glare  from  the  four  staring  white 


284  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

walls,  the  room  grew  hot,  the  layer  of  foul  warm  air  just 
beneath  the  ceiling,  slowly  descending.  The  acrid  tobacco 
smoke  no  longer  rose,  but  hung  in  long,  slow-waving 
threads  just  above  their  heads.  They  played  on  steadily; 
a  great  stillness  grew  in  the  room,  a  stillness  broken  only 
by  the  little  rattle  of  chips  and  subdued  rustle  of  the 
shuffled  cards.  Once  Vandover  stopped,  just  time  enough 
to  throw  off  his  vest,  his  collar,  and  his  scarf.  For  a  mo 
ment  the  luck  seemed  about  to  settle  on  him.  He  was 
still  banking,  and  twice  in  succession  he  drew  Van  John, 
both  times  winning  heavily  from  the  Dummy,  and  a  little 
later  tied  Ellis  at  twenty  when  the  latter  had  staked  on 
nearly  a  third  of  his  chips.  But  in  the  next  half-dozen 
hands  Ellis  got  back  the  lead  again,  winning  from  both 
the  others.  From  this  time  on  it  was  settled.  The  luck 
suddenly  declared  openly  for  Ellis,  the  Dummy  and  Van 
dover  merely  fighting  for  second  place.  Ellis  held  his  lead ; 
at  one  o'clock  he  was  nearly  fifty  dollars  ahead  of  the 
game.  The  profound  silence  of  the  room  seemed  to  widen 
about  them.  After  midnight  the  noises  in  the  hotel,  the 
ringing  of  distant  call  bells,  the  rattle  of  dishes  from  the 
kitchens,  the  clash  of  closing  elevator  doors,  gradually 
ceased;  only  at  long  intervals  one  heard  the  hurried  step 
of  a  bell-boy  in  the  hall  outside  and  the  clink  of  the  ice  in 
the  water  pitcher  that  he  was  carrying.  Outside  a  great 
quiet  seemed  in  a  sense  to  rise  from  the  sleeping  city,  the 
noises  in  the  streets  died  away.  The  last  electric  car  went 
down  Kearney  Street,  getting  under  way  with  a  long 
minor  wail.  Occasionally  a  belated  coupe,  a  nighthawk, 
rattled  over  the  cobbles,  while  close  by,  from  over  the 
roofs,  the  tall  slender  stack  upon  the  steam  laundry  puffed 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  285 

incessantly,  three  puffs  at  a  time,  like  some  kind  of  halting 
clock.  The  room  became  more  and  more  close,  none  of 
them  would  take  the  time  to  open  the  window,  from  ceil 
ing  to  floor  the  air  was  fouled  by  their  breathing,  by  the 
tobacco  smoke  and  by  the  four  flaring  gas-jets.  By  this- 
time  a  sombre  excitement  burnt  in  their  eyes  and  quivered 
in  their  fingers.  Never  for  an  instant  did  their  glances 
leave  the  cards.  Ellis  was  drinking  whisky  again,  mixed 
with  soda,  his  hand  continually  groping  for  the  glass  with 
a  mechanical  gesture;  the  Dummy  was  so  excited  he  could 
not  keep  his  cigar  alight,  and  contented  himself  with 
chewing  the  end  with  an  hysterical  motion  of  his  jaws.  The 
perspiration  stood  in  beads  on  the  back  of  Vandover's 
hands,  running  down  in  tiny  rivulets  between  his  fingers, 
his  teeth  were  shut  close  together  and  he  was  breathing 
short  through  his  nose,  a  fine  trembling  had  seized  upon 
his  hands  so  that  the  chips  in  his  palm  rattled  like  casta 
nets.  In  the  stale  and  murky  atmosphere  of  the  over 
heated  room  in  the  midst  of  the  vast  silence  of  the  sleeping 
city  they  played  on  steadily. 

Then  they  began  to  "plunge,"  agreeing  to  play  a  no 
limit  game  and  raising  the  value  of  a  red  chip  to  ten 
dollars;  at  times  they  even  played  with  the  coins  them 
selves  when  their  chips  were  exhausted.  Vandover  had 
lost  all  his  ready  money,  and  now  for  a  long  time  had  been 
gambling  with  the  five  hundred  dollars  he  had  that  day 
drawn  from  the  bank.  Ellis  had  practically  put  the 
Dummy  out  of  the  play,  and  now  the  game  was  between 
him  and  Vandover.  Ellis  was  banking,  and  at  length 
offered  to  sell  the  bank  to  either  one  of  them.  For  the 
first  time  since  the  real  gambling  began  they  commenced 


286  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

to  talk  a  little,  but  in  short,  brief  sentences,  answering  by 
monosyllables  and  by  signs. 

"How  much  for  the  bank?"  inquired  Ellis,  holding  up 
the  deck  and  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  Instantly 
the  Dummy  wrote  ten  dollars,  in  figures,  on  his  pad,  and 
showed  it  to  him.  Vandover  looked  at  what  the  Dummy 
had  written,  and  said : 

"Fifteen. 

"Twenty,"  scribbled  the  Dummy,  as  he  watched  Van- 
clover's  lips  form  the  word. 

"Twenty-five,"  returned  Vandover.  The  Dummy  hes 
itated  a  moment  and  then  wrote  "thirty."  Ellis  shook 
his  head  saying,  "I'll  keep  the  bank  myself  at  that." 

"Forty  dollars!"  cried  Vandover.  The  Dummy  shook 
his  head,  leaning  back  in  his  chair.  Ellis  shoved  the  pack 
across  the  table  to  Vandover,  and  Vandover  gave  him  a 
twenty-dollar  bill  and  two  red  chips. 

On  Vandover's  very  first  deal  around,  the  Dummy 
"stood"  on  the  second  card,  for  twelve  chips;  Ellis  bet 
twenty-five  on  his  first  card,  and,  as  he  got  the  second, 
turned  both  of  them  face  up.  He  had  two  jacks. 
"Twenty-five  on  each  of  these,"  he  said.  "I'll  draw  to 
each  one."  Vandover  looked  at  his  own  card;  it  was  a 
ten-spot.  All  at  once  he  grew  reckless,  and  seized  with  a 
sudden  folly,  resolved  to  attempt  a  great  coup.  "Double 
up ! "  he  ordered.  The  Dummy  set  out  twelve  more  chips, 
and  Ellis  another  fifty,  making  his  bet  an  even  hundred. 
Vandover  began  to  deal  to  Ellis.  On  the  first  jack  Ellis 
drew  eighteen  and  stood  at  that;  the  first  card  that  fell 
to  the  second  jack  was  an  ace.  "Van  John,"  he  remarked 
quietly.  The  Dummy  drew  three  cards  and  stood  on 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  287 

nineteen.  Vandover  turned  up  his  own  card  and  began  to 
deal  for  himself.  He  already  had  a  ten;  now  he  drew  a 
seven-spot  and  king  in  succession. 

"The  bank  pays,"  he  exclaimed.  He  paid  the  Dummy 
twenty-four  chips.  He  gave  Ellis  fifty  for  the  eighteen  he 
had  drawn  on  his  first  jack,  and  one  hundred  for  the  Van 
John  upon  the  second,  since  the  latter  combination  called 
for  double  the  amount  wagered;  besides  this,  the  bank  was 
lost  to  him.  Including  the  forty  that  he  had  paid  for  the 
bank,  he  had  lost  in  all  two  hundred  and  fourteen  dollars. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Vandover  played  so  high  a  game, 
never  before  had  he  won  or  lost  more  than  fifty  dollars 
at  a  sitting.  But  he  was  content  to  have  it  thus.  Here 
at  last  was  the  new  pleasure  for  which  he  had  longed,  the 
fresh  violent  excitement  that  alone  could  rouse  his  jaded 
nerves,  the  one  thing  that  could  amuse  him.  However, 
the  failure  of  his  coup  had  left  him  without  chips;  he  was 
out  of  the  game.  He  decided  that  he  would  stop;  more 
than  half  of  his  five  hundred  dollars  was  gone  already. 
He  drank  off  a  glass  of  soda,  the  dregs  of  one  of  the  siphon 
bottles,  and  got  up  yawning,  shivering  a  little  and  stretch 
ing  his  arms  high  above.  The  other  two  played  on  stead 
ily.  The  Dummy  began  to  gain  slowly  upon  Ellis,  play 
ing  very  cautiously,  betting  only  upon  face  cards,  aces, 
and  ten-spots.  Twice  Ellis  offered  to  sell  him  the  bank, 
but  he  refused,  fearful  lest  it  should  change  his  luck. 

Vandover  sat  behind  the  Dummy's  chair,  watching  his 
game,  but  at  length,  worn  out,  he  began  to  drop  off  to 
sleep,  waking  every  now  and  then  with  a  sudden  leap  and 
recoil  of  all  his  nerves.  An  hour  later  the  persistent 
scratching  of  a  match  awoke  him.  Ellis  and  the  Dummy 


288  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

were  still  playing,  and  the  Dummy  was  once  more  re 
lighting  the  stump  of  his  cigar.  Ellis  continued  to  deal, 
winning  at  almost  every  play;  a  great  pile  of  chips  and 
money  lay  at  his  elbow.  For  a  few  minutes  Vandover 
watched  the  Dummy's  game,  leaning  forward  in  his  chair, 
his  elbows  on  his  knees.  But  it  was  evident  that  the 
Dummy  had  lost  his  nerve.  Ellis'  continued  winnings 
had  at  length  demoralized  him.  At  one  time  he  would 
bet  heavily  on  worthless  cards,  and  at  another  would  throw 
back  nines  and  tens  for  no  apparent  reason.  Finally 
Ellis  dealt  him  a  queen,  which  he  kept,  betting  ten  chips. 
His  next  card  was  a  seven-spot.  He  signed  to  Ellis  that 
he  would  stand.  Ellis  drew  twenty  in  three  cards.  Van 
dover  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  impatience  at 
the  Dummy's  stupidity.  What  a  fool  a  man  must  be 
to  stand  on  seventeen  with  only  two  in  the  game.  All  at 
once  he  tossed  twenty  dollars  across  the  table  to  Ellis, 
saying,  "Give  me  that  in  chips.  I'm  coming  in  again." 
Once  more  he  resumed  his  seat  at  the  table,  and  Ellis 
dealt  him  a  hand. 

But  Vandover's  interruption  had  for  an  instant  taken 
Ellis'  mind  from  the  game.  He  stirred  in  his  chair  and 
looked  about  the  room,  puffing  out  his  cheeks  and  blowing 
between  his  lips. 

"Say,  this  room  is  close  enough  to  strangle  you.  Open 
the  window  behind  you,  Van,  you're  nearest  to  it."  As 
Vandover  raised  the  curtain  he  uttered  a  cry:  "Look 
here!  will  you?" 

It  was  morning;  the  city  was  flooded  by  the  light  of  the 
sun  already  an  hour  high.  The  sky  was  without  a  cloud. 
Over  the  roofs  and  amongst  the  gray  maze  of  telegraph 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  289 

wires  swarms  of  sparrows  were  chittering  hoarsely,  and  as 
Vandover  raised  the  window  he  could  hear  the  newsboys 
far  below  in  the  streets  chanting  the  morning's  papers. 

"Come  on,  Van!"  exclaimed  Ellis  impatiently;  "we're 
waiting  for  you." 

That  night  decided  it.  From  that  time  on,  Vandover's 
only  pleasure  was  gambling.  Night  and  day  he  sat  over 
the  cards,  the  passion  growing  upon  him  as  he  continued 
to  lose,  for  his  ill  luck  was  extraordinary.  It  was  a  ver 
itable  mania,  a  wild  blind  frenzy  that  knew  no  limit.  At 
first  he  had  contented  himself  with  a  game  in  which 
twenty  or  thirty  dollars  was  as  much  as  he  could  win  or 
lose  at  a  sitting,  but  soon  this  palled  upon  him;  he  was 
obliged  to  raise  the  stakes  continually  in  order  to  arouse 
in  him  the  interest,  the  keen  tense  excitement,  that  his 
jaded  nerves  craved. 

The  five  hundred  dollars  that  he  had  drawn  from  the  ten 
thousand,  the  first  payment  on  his  old  home,  melted 
away  within  a  week.  Only  a  few  years  ago  Vandover 
would  have  stopped  to  reflect  upon  the  meaning  of  this, 
would  have  resisted  the  temptation  that  drew  him  con 
stantly  to  the  gambling-table,  but  the  idea  of  resistance 
never  so  much  as  occurred  to  him.  He  did  not  invest  his 
fifteen  thousand,  but  drew  upon  it  continually  to  satisfy 
his  last  new  craze.  It  was  not  with  any  hope  of  winning 
that  he  gambled  —  the  desire  of  money  was  never  strong 
in  him  —  it  was  only  the  love  of  the  excitement  of  the 
moment. 

Little  by  little  the  fifteen  thousand  in  the  bank  dwin 
dled.  It  did  not  all  go  in  cards.  Certain  habits  of  ex 
travagance  grew  upon  Vandover,  the  natural  outcome  of 


290  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

his  persistent  gambling,  the  desire  of  winning  easily  being 
balanced  by  the  impulses  to  spend  quickly.  He  took  a 
certain  hysterical  delight  in  flinging  away  money  with 
both  hands.  Now  it  was  the  chartering  of  a  yacht  for  a 
ten-days'  cruise  about  the  bay,  or  it  was  a  bicycle  bought 
one  week  and  thrown  away  the  next,  a  fresh  suit  of  clothes 
each  month,  gloves  worn  but  once,  gold-pieces  thrust  into 
Flossie's  pockets,  suppers  given  to  bouffe  actresses  — 
twenty-four-hour  acquaintances  —  a  race-horse  bought 
for  eight  hundred  dollars,  resold  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty  —  rings  and  scarf-pins  given  away  to  the  women  and 
girls  of  the  Imperial,  and  a  whole  world  of  follies  that  his 
poor  distorted  wits  conceived  from  hour  to  hour.  His 
judgment  was  gone,  his  mind  unbalanced.  All  his  life 
Vandover  had  been  sinking  slowly  lower  and  lower;  this, 
however,  was  the  beginning  of  the  last  plunge.  The 
process  of  degeneration,  though  inevitable,  had  been 
gradual  as  long  as  he  indulged  generally  in  all  forms  of 
evil;  it  was  only  now  when  a  passion  for  one  particular 
vice  absorbed  him  that  he  commenced  to  rush  headlong 
to  his  ruin. 

The  fifteen  thousand  dollars  —  the  price  of  his  old  home 
—  he  gambled  or  flung  away  in  a  little  less  than  a  year. 
He  never  invested  it,  but  ate  into  it  day  after  day,  some 
times  to  pay  his  gambling  debts,  sometimes  to  indulge 
an  absurd  and  extravagant  whim,  sometimes  to  pay  his 
bill  at  the  Lick  House,  and  sometimes  for  no  reason  at 
all,  moved  simply  by  a  reckless  desire  for  spending. 

On  the  evening  of  a  certain  Thanksgiving  day,  nine 
months  after  he  had  sold  the  house,  Vandover  came  in 
through  the  ladies'  entrance  of  the  Imperial,  going  slowly 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  291 

down  the  passageway,  looking  into  the  little  rooms  on  his 
right  for  Ellis  or  the  Dummy.  There  had  been  a  great 
intercollegiate  football  game  that  day,  and  Vandover, 
remembering  that  he  had  once  found  an  interest  in  such 
things,  had  at  first  determined  to  see  it.  But  toward 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  rain  had  begun  to  fall, 
and  Ellis,  who  was  to  have  gone  with  him,  declared  that 
he  did  not  care  enough  about  the  game  to  go  out  to  it  in 
the  rain.  Vandover  was  disappointed;  he  fancied  that 
he  could  have  enjoyed  the  game  —  as  much  as  he  could 
enjoy  anything  of  late  —  but  he  hated  to  go  to  places 
alone.  In  the  end,  however,  he  resolved  to  go  whether 
Ellis  went  or  not.  It  was  a  holiday.  Vandover  had  Ellis 
and  the  Dummy  to  lunch  with  him  at  the  hotel,  where 
they  arranged  the  menu  of  a  famous  Thanksgiving  dinner 
for  that  evening:  they  would  meet  in  one  of  the  little 
rooms  of  the  Imperial  and  go  from  there  to  the  restaurant. 
As  they  were  finishing  their  lunch  Vandover  said: 

*'  I  got  a  new  kind  of  liqueur  yesterday  —  has  a  colour 
like  violets  and  smells  like  cologne.  You  fellows  better 
come  up  to  my  room  and  try  it.  I've  got  to  go  up  and 
change  anyway,  if  I  go  out  to  that  game."  They  all  went 
up  to  Vandover 's  cheerless  room,  and  Ellis  began  to  argue 
with  Vandover  against  the  folly  of  going  anywhere  in  the 
rain. 

"  You  don't  want  to  go  to  that  game,  Van.  Just  look 
how  it's  raining.  I'll  bet  there  won't  be  a  thousand  peo 
ple  there.  They'll  probably  postpone  the  game  anyway. 
Say,  this  is  queer  looking  stuff.  What  do  you  call  it?" 

"  Creme  violette." 

The  Dummy  set  down  his  emptied  liqueur  glass  on  the 


292  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

mantelshelf,  and  nodded  approvingly  at  Vandover;  then 
he  scribbled,  "Out  of  sight,'*  on  his  tablet. 

"Tastes  like  cough  syrup  and  alcohol,"  growled  Ellis, 
scowling  and  sipping.  "I  think  a  pint  of  this  would  make 
the  Dummy  talk  Dutch.  Keep  it  up,  Dummy,"  he  con 
tinued,  articulating  distinctly  so  that  the  other  could  catch 
the  movement  of  his  lips.  "Drink  some  more  —  make 
you  talk."  Vandover  was  cutting  the  string  around  a 
pasteboard  box  that  had  just  come  from  his  tailor's;  it 
was  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  rough  cheviot,  brown  with 
small  checks.  He  dressed  slowly  and  tipped  forward  the 
swinging  mirror  of  the  bureau  to  see  how  the  trousers  set. 
Meanwhile  Ellis  and  the  Dummy  had  got  out  the  cards  and 
chips  from  the  drawer  of  the  centre-table  and  had  begun 
a  game. 

"Better  change  your  mind,  Van,"  said  Ellis  without 
raising  his  eyes  from  the  cards. 

"No,  sir,"  answered  Van.  "You  don't  know  how  it  ij 
—  you  never  were  a  college  man.  Why,  I  wouldn't  miss 
a  football  game  for  anything.  Talk  about  your  horse- 
racing,  talk  about  your  baseball  —  I  tell  you  there's  noth 
ing  in  the  world  so  exciting  as  a  hot  football  game."  He 
swung  into  his  long  high-coloured  waterproof  and  stood 
behind  Ellis,  watching  his  game  for  a  moment  while  he 
tied  a  couple  of  long  silk  streamers  to  his  umbrella  handle. 

"  It's  one  of  the  college  colours,"  he  explained.  "  Seems 
like  old  times  back  at  Harvard."  Ellis  snorted  with  con 
tempt. 

"Such  kids!  "he  growled. 

"I  saw  one  of  the  coaches  go  down  the  street  a  little 
while  ago,"  continued  Vandover,  still  watching  Ellis 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  293 

shuffle  and  deal.  "There  were  about  twenty  college  men 
on  top,  and  they  had  a  big  bulldog  all  harnessed  out  in 
their  colours,  and  they  were  blowing  fish-horns,  and  I  tell 
you  it  made  me  wish  I  was  one  of  them  again."  Ellis 
did  not  answer;  it  was  probable  he  did  not  hear.  Both 
he  and  the  Dummy  were  settling  down  for  a  game  that 
no  doubt  would  last  all  the  afternoon.  Vandover  made 
them  free  of  his  room,  and  they  often  gambled  there 
when  he  was  away.  But  it  invariably  made  Ellis  nervous 
to  have  any  one  stand  behind  his  chair  while  he  was  play 
ing;  he  began  to  move  about  uneasily.  By  and  by  he 
looked  at  his  watch.  "Better  get  a  move  on,"  he  said, 
"you'll  be  late." 

"Just  a  minute,"  answered  Vandover,  more  and  more 
interested  in  the  game.  "Go  on  playing;  don't  bother 
about  me.  Oh,  I  saw  Charlie  Geary,  too,"  he  continued, 
"on  another  coach;  there  was  a  party  of  them.  Charlie 
was  with  Turner  Ravis  on  the  box  seat.  You  remember 
Turner  Ravis,  don't  you,  Bandy?  The  girl  I  used  to  go 
with." 

"There's  a  girl  I  never  liked,"  observed  Ellis.  "She 
always  struck  me  as  being  one  of  these  regular  snobs." 

"  Ah,  snob  is  no  name  for  it,"  assented  Vandover.  "  She 
thought  she  was  too  damned  high-toned  for  me.  As  soon 
as  I  got  into  that  mess  about  Ida  Wade,  she  threw  me 
over.  No,  she  didn't  want  to  be  associated  with  me  any 
longer.  Well,  she  can  go  to  the  devil.  Geary's  welcome 
to  her." 

"I  thought  Dolly  Haight  was  going  to  marry  her,"  said 
Ellis.  "  What  was  the  matter  there?  " 

"7  don't  know,"  returned  Vandover;  "probably  Dolly 


294  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

Haight  didn't  have  enough  money  to  suit  her.  Guess 
she  wants  a  man  that  will  make  his  pile  in  this  town  and 
make  his  way,  too.  Ah,  you  bet ! " 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  still  behind  Ellis'  chair. 
Ellis  had  become  so  fidgety  that  he  was  losing  steadily. 
Once  more  he  turned  to  Vandover,  speaking  over  his 
shoulder,  "Come  on,  come  on,  Van,  go  along  to  your  foot 
ball;  you  make  me  nervous  standing  there."  Vandover 
pushed  a  ten-dollar  gold-piece  across  the  table  to  the 
Dummy,  who  was  banking,  and  said : 

"Give  me  that  in  chips.     I'm  coming  in." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  the  game?"  inquired 
Ellis. 

"Ah,  the  devil!"  answered  Vandover.  "Too  much 
rain." 

They  had  played  without  interruption  all  that  after 
noon,  and  for  once  Vandover  had  all  the  luck.  When  they 
broke  up  about  five  o'clock  with  the  understanding  to 
meet  again  in  the  Imperial  at  seven,  he  had  won  nearly  a 
hundred  dollars. 

When  Vandover  went  out  to  keep  this  appointment  he 
found  the  streets  —  especially  Kearney  and  Market 
streets  —  crowded.  It  was  about  half -past  six.  The  foot 
ball  game  was  over  and  the  college  men  had  returned. 
They  were  everywhere,  marching  about  in  long  files, 
chain-gang  fashion,  each  file  headed  by  a  man  beating 
upon  a  gong,  or  parading  the  sidewalks  ten  abreast, 
singing  college  songs  or  shouting  their  slogan.  At  every 
moment  one  heard  the  college  yells  answering  each  other 
from  street  corner  to  street  corner,  "Rah,  rah,  rah  — 
Rah,  rah,  rah!"  Vandover  found  the  Imperial  crowded 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  295 

with  students.  The  barroom  was  packed  to  the  doors, 
every  one  of  the  little  rooms  in  the  front  hall  was  full, 
while  Flossie  and  Nannie  had  a  great  party  of  the  young 
fellows  in  one  of  the  larger  rooms  in  the  rear.  Among 
the  crowd  in  the  barroom,  three  members  of  the  winning 
team  —  heroes,  with  bandages  about  their  heads  —  were 
breaking  training,  smoking  and  drinking  for  the  first 
time  in  many  long  weeks. 

Vandover  found  Ellis  and  the  Dummy  leaning  against 
the  wall  in  the  crowded  front  passage.  They  were  both  in 
bad  humour,  the  Dummy  sulking  because  Flossie  had 
left  him  for  one  of  the  football  men,  the  full-back,  a  young 
blond  giant  with  two  dislocated  fingers;  Ellis  in  a  rage 
because  he  could  get  no  cocktails  at  the  bar,  only  straight 
drinks  that  night  —  too  much  of  a  crowd.  These  damn 
college  sports  thought  they  owned  the  town.  "Ah,  let's 
get  out  of  here,  Van!"  he  called  over  the  heads  of  the 
throng  as  soon  as  Vandover  came  in  sight. 

They  went  out  into  the  street  and  started  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  restaurant  where  they  had  decided  to  eat  their 
Thanksgiving  dinner.  After  leaving  Vandover  that  after 
noon  Ellis  had  seen  the  head  waiter  of  this  restaurant 
and  had  explained  to  him  the  bill  of  fare  that  Vandover, 
the  Dummy,  and  himself  had  arranged  during  their 
lunch  at  the  Lick  House.  The  streets  had  relapsed  into  a 
momentary  quiet  —  it  was  between  half -past  six  and  seven 
—  and  most  of  the  college  men  were  gathered  into  the 
hotels  and  cafes  eating  dinner.  About  an  hour  later  they 
would  reappear  again  for  a  moment  on  their  way  to  the 
theatre,  which  they  were  to  attend  in  a  body. 

But  Vandover  suddenly  discovered  that  he  could  not 


296  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

eat  a  mouthful,  the  smell  of  food  revolted  him,  and  little 
by  little  an  irregular  twitching  had  overcome  his  hands 
and  forearms. 

He  had  received  a  great  shock.  That  same  evening,  as 
he  was  leaving  the  hotel,  the  clerk  at  the  office  had  handed 
him  some  letters  that  had  accumulated  in  his  box.  Van- 
dover  could  never  think  to  ask  for  his  mail  in  the  morning 
as  he  went  in  to  breakfast.  Something  was  surely  wrong 
with  his  head  of  late.  Every  day  he  found  it  harder  and 
harder  to  remember  things.  There  were  three  letters 
altogether:  one  was  the  tailor's  bill  mailed  the  same  day 
that  his  last  suit  had  been  finished;  a  second  was  an 
advertisement  announcing  the  near  opening  of  the  Sutro 
Baths  that  were  building  at  that  time;  and  the  third 
a  notice  from  the  bank  calling  his  attention  to  the  fact 
that  his  account  was  overdrawn  by  some  sixty  dollars. 

At  first  Vandover  did  not  see  the  meaning  of  this  notice, 
and  thrust  it  back  in  his  pocket  together  with  the  tailor's 
bill;  then  slowly  an  idea  struggled  into  his  mind.  Was 
it  possible  that  he  no  longer  had  any  money  at  the  bank? 
Was  his  fifteen  thousand  gone?  From  time  to  time  his 
bank-book  had  been  balanced,  and  invariably  during  the 
first  days  of  each  month  his  checks  had  come  back  to  him, 
used  and  crumpled,  covered  with  strange  signatures  and 
stamped  in  blue  ink;  but  after  the  first  few  months  he  had 
never  paid  the  least  attention  to  these;  he  never  kept 
accounts,  having  a  veritable  feminine  horror  of  figures. 
But  it  was  absurd  to  think  that  his  money  was  gone. 
Pshaw!  one  could  not  spend  fifteen  thousand  in  nine 
months!  It  was  preposterous!  This  notice  was  some 
technicality  that  he  could  not  understand.  He  would 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  297 

look  into  it  the  next  day.  And  so  he  dismissed  the  weari 
some  matter  from  his  mind  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders 
as  though  ridding  himself  of  some  troublesome  burden. 
However,  the  idea  persisted.  Somehow,  between  the 
lines  of  the  printed  form  he  smelt  out  a  fresh  disaster.  He 
read  it  over  again  and  again.  All  at  once  as  he  stood  in 
the  doorway  of  the  hotel,  turning  up  the  collar  of  his 
waterproof  and  watching  the  little  pools  in  the  hollows  of 
the  asphalt  pavement  to  see  if  it  were  still  raining,  the 
conviction  came  upon  him.  In  a  second  he  knew  that 
he  was  ruined.  The  true  meaning  of  the  notice  became 
apparent  with  the  swiftness  of  a  great  flash  of  light.  He 
had  spent  his  fifteen  thousand  dollars ! 

The  blow  was  strong  enough,  sudden  enough  to  pene 
trate  even  Vandover's  clouded  and  distorted  wits.  His 
nerves  were  gone  in  a  minute,  a  sudden  stupefying  numb 
ness  fell  upon  his  brain,  and  the  fear  of  something  unknown, 
the  immense  unreasoning  terror  that  had  gripped  him  for 
the  first  time  the  morning  after  Ida  Wade's  suicide  came 
back  upon  him,  horrible,  crushing,  so  that  he  had  to  shut 
his  teeth  against  a  wild  hysterical  desire  to  rush  through 
the  streets  screaming  and  waving  his  arms. 

By  the  time  the  three  friends  had  reached  the  restau 
rant  where  they  were  to  eat  their  Thanksgiving  dinner, 
Vandover's  appetite  had  given  place  to  a  loathing  of  the 
very  smell  of  food,  his  nervousness  was  fast  approaching 
hysteria,  the  little  nerve  clusters  all  over  his  body  seemed 
to  be  crisping  and  writhing  like  balls  of  tiny  serpents, 
at  intervals  he  would  twitch  sharply  as  though  startled 
at  some  sudden  noise,  his  breath  coming  short,  his  heart 
beating  quick. 


298  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

They  had  their  dinner  in  one  of  the  private  rooms  of 
the  restaurant  on  the  second  floor.  All  through  the  meal 
Vandover  struggled  to  keep  himself  in  hand,  fighting  with 
all  his  strength  against  this  reappearance  of  his  old  enemy, 
this  sudden  return  of  the  dreadful  crisis,  determined  not 
to  make  an  exhibition  of  himself  before  the  others.  He 
pretended  to  eat,  and  forced  himself  to  talk,  joining  in 
with  Ellis,  who  was  badgering  the  Dummy  about  Flossie. 
The  proper  thing  to  do  was  to  fill  the  Dummy's  glass  while 
his  attention  was  otherwise  absorbed,  and  in  the  end  to 
get  him  so  drunk  that  he  could  talk.  Toward  the  end 
of  the  dinner  Ellis  was  successful.  All  at  once  the  Dummy 
got  upon  his  feet,  his  eyes  were  glazed  with  drunkenness, 
he  swayed  about  in  an  irregular  circle,  holding  up,  now 
by  the  table,  now  by  the  chair-back,  and  now  by  the  wall 
behind  him.  He  was  very  angry,  exasperated  beyond 
control  by  Ellis'  raillery  and  abuse.  He  forgot  himself 
and  uttered  a  series  of  peculiar  cries  very  faint  and  shrill, 
like  the  sounds  of  a  voice  heard  through  a  telephone  when 
some  imperfection  of  transmission  prevents  one  from  dis 
tinguishing  the  words.  His  mouth  was  wide  open  and 
his  tongue  rolled  about  in  an  absurd  way  between  his 
teeth.  Now  and  then  one  could  catch  a  word  or  two. 
Ellis  went  into  spasms  of  laughter,  holding  his  sides,  gasp 
ing  for  breath.  Vandover  could  not  help  being  amused, 
and  the  two  laughed  at  the  Dummy's  stammering  rage 
until  their  breath  was  spent.  Throughout  the  rest  of  the 
evening  the  Dummy  recommenced  from  time  to  time, 
rising  unsteadily  to  his  feet,  shaking  his  fists,  pouring 
out  a  stream  of  little  ineffectual  birdlike  twitterings,  try 
ing  to  give  Ellis  abuse  for  abuse,  trying  to  talk  long  after 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  299 

it  had  ceased  to  amuse  the  other  two.  Ellis  had  been 
drinking  for  nearly  six  hours,  without  the  liquor  producing 
the  slightest  effect  upon  him;  long  since,  the  Dummy  was 
hopelessly  drunk;  and  now  Vandover,  who  had  been  drink 
ing  upon  an  empty  stomach,  began  to  grow  very  noisy 
and  boisterous.  Little  by  little  Ellis  himself  commenced 
to  lose  his  self-control.  By  and  by  he  and  Vandover 
began  to  sing,  each  independent  of  the  other,  very  hoarse 
and  loud.  The  Dummy  joined  them,  making  a  hideous 
and  lamentable  noise  which  so  affected  Ellis  that  he  pre 
tended  to  howl  at  it  like  a  little  dog  overcome  by  mourn 
ful  music.  But  suddenly  Ellis  had  an  idea,  crying  out 
thickly,  between  two  hiccoughs : 

"Hey,  there,  Van,  do  your  dog-act  for  us!  Go  on! 
Bark  for  us!" 

By  this  time  Vandover  was  very  nearly  out  of  his  head, 
his  drunkenness  finishing  what  his  nervousness  had  begun. 
The  attack  was  fast  approaching  culmination;  strange 
and  unnatural  fancies  began  to  come  and  go  in  his  brain. 

"Go  on,  Van!"  urged  Ellis,  his  eyes  heavy  with  alcohol. 
"Go  on,  do  your  dog-act!" 

All  at  once  it  was  as  though  an  angry  dog  were  snarling 
and  barking  over  a  bone  there  under  the  table  about  their 
feet.  Ellis  roared  with  laughter,  but  suddenly  he  him 
self  was  drunk.  All  the  afternoon  he  had  kept  himself  in 
hand;  now  his  intoxication  came  upon  him  in  a  mo 
ment.  The  skin  around  his  eyes  was  purple  and  swollen, 
the  pupils  themselves  were  contracted;  they  grew  darker, 
taking  on  the  colour  of  bitumen.  Suddenly  he  swept 
glasses,  plates,  castor,  knives,  forks,  and  all  from  off  the 
table  with  a  single  movement  of  his  arm.  Then  the 


300  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

alcohol  overcame  him  all  in  an  instant  like  a  poisonous  gas. 
He  swayed  forward  in  his  chair  and  fell  across  the  stripped 
table,  his  head  rolling  inertly  between  his  outstretched 
arms.  He  did  not  move  again. 

In  a  neighbouring  room  young  Haight  had  been  dining 
with  some  college  fellows,  fraternity  men,  all  friends  of 
his,  upon  whose  coach  he  had  ridden  to  and  from  the  game. 
He  had  heard  Vandover  and  Ellis  in  the  room  across  the 
hall  and  had  recognized  their  voices.  Haight  had  never 
been  a  friend  of  Ellis,  but  no  one,  not  even  Turner,  had 
grieved  more  over  Vandover's  ruin  than  had  his  old-time 
college  chum. 

Young  Haight  heard  the  noise  of  the  falling  crockery  as 
Ellis  swept  the  table  clear,  and  turned  his  head  sharply, 
listening.  There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  this,  and 
Haight,  fearing  some  accident  had  happened,  stepped  out 
into  the  hall  and  stood  there  a  moment  listening  again,  his 
head  inclined  toward  the  closed  door.  He  heard  no 
groaning,  no  exclamations  of  pain,  not  even  any  noise  of 
conversation;  only  through  the  closed  door  came  a  steady 
sound  of  barking. 

Puzzled,  he  tried  the  door  and,  finding  it  locked,  as  he 
had  expected,  put  one  foot  upon  the  knob  and,  catching 
hold  of  the  top  jamb,  raised  himself  up  and  looked  down 
through  the  open  space  that  answered  for  a  transom. 

The  room  was  very  warm,  the  air  thick  with  the  smell 
of  cooked  food,  the  fumes  of  whisky,  and  the  acrid  odour 
of  cigar  smoke.  Ellis  had  rolled  from  his  chair  and  lay 
upon  the  floor  sprawling  on  his  face  in  the  wreck  of  the 
table.  Near  to  him,  likewise  upon  the  floor,  but  sitting 
up,  his  back  against  the  wall,  was  the  Dummy.  He  was 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  301 

muttering  incessantly  to  himself,  as  if  delighted  at  having 
found  his  tongue,  his  head  swaying  on  his  shoulders,  and 
a  strange  murmur,  soft,  birdlike,  meaningless,  like  sounds 
heard  from  a  vast  distance,  coming  from  his  wide-open 
mouth. 

Vandover  was  sitting  bolt  upright  in  his  chair,  his  hands 
gripping  the  table,  his  eyes  staring  straight  before  him. 
He  was  barking  incessantly.  It  was  evident  that  now 
he  could  not  stop  himself;  it  was  like  hysterical  laughter, 
a  thing  beyond  his  control.  Twice  young  Haight  called 
him  by  name,  kicking  the  door  as  his  leg  hung  against  it. 
At  last  Vandover  heard  him.  Then  as  he  caught  sight  of 
his  face  over  the  door  he  raised  his  upper  lip  above  his 
teeth  and  snarled  at  him,  long  and  viciously. 

As  Haight  dropped  down  into  the  hall  a  waiter  came 
running  up;  he,  too,  had  heard  the  noise  of  the  breaking 
dishes.  As  he  thrust  his  key  into  the  lock  he  paused  a 
moment,  listening  and  looking  in  a  puzzled  way  at  young 
Haight.  "They  have  a  dog  in  here,  then?  They  had  no 
dog  when  they  came.  That's  funny ! " 

"Open  the  door,"  said  young  Haight  quietly.  Once 
inside  Haight  went  directly  to  Vandover,  crying  out: 
"Come!  come  on,  Van!  come  home  with  me."  Vandover 
started  suddenly,  looking  about  him  bewildered,  drawing 
his  hand  across  his  face. 

"Home,"  he  repeated  vaguely;  "yes,  that's  the  idea. 
Let's  go  home.  I  want  to  go  to  bed.  Hello,  Dolly !  where 
did  you  come  from?  Say,  Dolly,  let  me  tell  you  —  listen 
here  —  come  down  here  close;  you  mustn't  mind  me;  you 
know  I'm  a  wolf  mostly!" 

They  went  down  toward  the  Lick   House.      Vandover 


302  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

grew  steadier  after  a  few  minutes  in  the  open  air.  Young 
Haight  locked  arms  with  him;  they  went  on  together  in 
silence.  By  this  time  the  streets  were  crowded  again,  the 
theatres  were  over,  and  the  college  men  were  once  more  at 
large.  Now  they  were  all  gathered  together  into  one  im 
mense  procession,  headed  by  a  brass  band  in  a  brewer's 
wagon,  and  they  tramped  aimlessly  to  and  fro  about 
Kearney  and  Market  streets,  making  a  hideous  noise.  At 
the  head  the  band  was  playing  a  popular  quick-step  with 
a  great  banging  of  a  bass  drum.  The  college  men  in  the 
front  ranks  were  singing  one  song,  those  in  the  rear  an 
other,  while  the  middle  of  the  column  was  given  over  to 
an  abominable  medley  of  fish-horns,  policemen's  rattles 
and  great  Chinese  gongs.  At  stated  intervals  the  throng 
would  halt  and  give  the  college  yell. 

"Dolly,  you  and  I  used  to  do  that,"  said  Vandover, 
looking  after  the  procession.  He  had  himself  well  in 
hand  by  this  time.  "  What  was  the  matter  with  me  back 
there  at  the  restaurant,  Dolly?"  he  asked  after  a  while. 

"Oh,  you'd  been  drinking  a  good  deal,  I  guess,"  an 
swered  young  Haight.  "You  —  you  had  some  queer  idea 
about  yourself!" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Vandover  quickly.  "Fan 
cied  I  was  some  kind  of  a  beast,  didn't  I  —  some  kind  of 
wolf?  I  have  that  notion  sometimes  and  I  can't  get  it 
out  of  my  head.  It's  curious  just  the  same." 

They  went  up  to  Vandover 's  room.  Vandover  lit  the 
gas,  but  he  could  hardly  keep  back  an  exclamation  as  the 
glare  suddenly  struck  young  Haight's  face.  What  in 
heaven's  name  was  the  matter  with  his  old-time  chum? 
He  seemed  to  be  blighted,  shattered,  struck  down  by  some 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  303 

terrible,  overwhelming  calamity.  A  dreadful  anguish  looked 
through  his  eyes.  The  sense  of  a  hopeless  misery  had  drawn 
and  twisted  his  face.  -There  could  be  no  doubt  that  some 
thing  had  made  shipwreck  of  his  life.  Vandover  was  look 
ing  at  a  ruined  man. 

"My  God,  Dolly!"  exclaimed  Vandover,  "what's  hap 
pened  to  you?  You  look  like  a  death's-head,  man! 
What's  gone  wrong?  Aren't  you  well?" 

Haight  caught  his  friend's  searching  gaze,  and  for  a 
moment  they  looked  at  each  other  without  speaking. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  fearful  grief  that  smouldered 
behind  Haight's  dull,  listless  eyes.  For  a  moment  Van 
dover  thought  of  Turner  Ravis.  But  even  if  she  had 
turned  him  off,  that  alone  would  not  account  for  his  friend's 
fearful  condition  of  mind  and  body. 

"What  is  it,  Dolly?"  persisted  Vandover.  "We  used  to 
be  pretty  good  chums,  not  so  long  ago." 

They  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  their  positions  seemed  reversed:  Haight  the  one  to 
be  protected  and  consoled,  Vandover  the  shielding  and 
self-reliant  one. 

Young  Haight  passed  his  hand  over  his  face  before  he 
answered,  and  Vandover  noticed  that  his  fingers  trembled 
like  an  old  man's. 

"Do  you  remember  that  night,  Van,  when  you  and 
Charlie  and  I  all  went  out  to  Turner's  house,  and  we  had 
tamales  and  beer,  and  a  glass  broke  in  that  peculiar  way, 
and  I  cut  my  lip?" 

Vandover  nodded,  forcing  his  attention  against  the 
alcoholic  fumes,  to  follow  his  friend's  words. 

"We  went  down  to  the  Imperial  afterward,"  Haight 


304  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

continued,  "and  ran  into  Ellis,  and  we  had  something 
more  to  eat.  Do  you  remember  that  as  we  sat  there, 
Toby,  the  waiter,  brought  Flossie  in,  and  she  sat  there  with 
us  a  while?" 

He  paused,  choosing  his  words.  Vandover  listened 
closely,  trying  to  recall  the  incident. 

"She  kissed  me,"  said  young  Haight  slowly,  "and  the 
court-plaster  came  off.  You  know  I  never  had  anything 
to  do  with  women,  Van.  I  always  tried  to  keep  away  from 
them.  But  that's  where  my  life  practically  came  to  an 
end." 

"You  mean "  began  Vandover.    "You  mean — 

that  you  —  that  Flossie ?  " 

Haight  nodded. 

"Good  God!  I  can't  believe  it.  It's  not  possible! 
I  know  Flossie!" 

Haight  shook  his  head,  smiling  grimly. 

"  I  can't  help  that,  Van,"  said  he.  "  There's  no  denying 
facts,  there's  no  other  possible  explanation !  As  soon  as  I 
knew,  I  went  to  the  doctors  here,  and  then  I  went  to  New 
York  for  treatment,  but  there's  no  hope.  I  didn't  know, 
you  see.  I  didn't  believe  it  possible.  Turner  Ravis  and 
I  were  engaged.  I  waited  too  long!  There's  only  one 
escape  for  me  now."  His  voice  dropped,  he  stared  for  a 
moment  at  the  floor.  Then  he  straightened  up,  and  said 
in  a  different  tone,  "But,  damn  it,  Van,  let's  not  talk 
about  it!  I'm  haunted  with  the  thing  day  and  night. 
I  want  to  talk  to  you!  I  want  to  talk  to  you  seriously. 
You  know  you  are  ruining  yourself,  old  man!" 

But  Vandover  interrupted  him  with  a  gesture,  saying, 
"Don't  go  on,  Dolly;  it  isn't  the  least  use.  There  was 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  305 

a  time  for  that,  but  that  was  long  ago.  I  used  to  care, 
I  used  to  be  sorry  and  all  that,  but  I'm  not  now.  Ruin 
ing  myself?  Why,  I  have  ruined  myself  long  ago. 
We're  both  ruined  —  only  in  your  case  it  wasn't  your 
fault.  It's  too  late  for  me  now,  and  I'm  even  not  sorry 
that  it  is  too  late.  Dolly,  I  don't  want  to  pull  up.  You 
can't  imagine  a  man  fallen  as  low  as  that,  can  you?  I 
couldn't  imagine  it  myself  a  few  years  ago.  I'm  going 
right  straight  to  the  devil  now,  and  you  might  as  well  stand 
aside  and  give  me  a  free  course,  for  I'm  bound  to  get  there 
sooner  or  later.  I  suppose  you  would  think  that  a  man 
who  could  see  this  as  plainly  as  I  do  would  be  afraid,  would 
have  remorse  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Well,  I  did  at 
first.  I'll  never  forget  the  night  when  I  first  saw  it;  came 
near  shooting  myself,  but  I  got  over  it,  and  now  I'm  used 
to  the  idea.  Dolly,  /  can  get  used  to  almost  anything.''9 
Nothing  makes  much  difference  to  me  nowadays  —  only 
I  like  to  play  cards.  Look  here!"  he  went  on,  laying  out 
the  notice  from  the  bank  upon  the  table,  "this  came  to 
day.  You  see  what  it  is!  I  sold  the  old  house  on  Cali 
fornia  Street.  Well,  I've  gambled  away  that  money  in 
less  than  a  year.  It  seems  that  I'm  a  financial  ruin  now, 
but"  —  and  he  began  to  laugh  —  "I  live  through  it  some 
how.  The  news  didn't  prevent  me  from  getting  drunk 
to-night." 

After  young  Haight  was  gone,  Vandover  went  to  bed, 
turning  out  the  gas  and  drawing  down  the  window  half 
way  from  the  top.  The  wine  had  made  him  sleepy; 
he  was  dropping  away  into  a  very  grateful  doze  when  a 
sudden  shock,  a  violent  leap  of  every  nerve  in  his  body, 
brought  him  up  to  a  sitting  posture,  gasping  for  breath, 


306  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

his  heart  fluttering,  his  hands  beating  at  the  empty  air.  He 
settled  down  again,  turning  upon  his  pillow,  closing  his  eyes, 
very  weary,  longing  for  a  good  night's  sleep.  Dolly 
Haight's  terrible  story,  his  unjustified  fate,  and  the  hope 
less  tragedy  of  it,  came  back  to  him.  Vandover  would 
gladly  have  changed  places  with  him.  Young  Haight 
had  the  affection  and  respect  of  even  those  that  knew. 
He,  Vandover,  had  thrown  away  his  friends'  love  and 
their  esteem  with  the  rest  of  the  things  he  had  once  valued. 
His  thoughts,  released  from  all  control  of  his  will,  began  to 
come  and  go  through  his  head  with  incredible  rapidity, 
confused  ideas,  half-remembered  scenes,  incidents  of  the 
past  few  days,  bits  and  ends  of  conversation  recalled  for 
no  especial  reason,  all  galloping  across  his  brain  like  a  long 
herd  of  terrified  horses;  an  excitement  grew  upon  him,  a 
strange  thrill  of  exhilaration.  He  was  broad  awake  now, 
but  suddenly  his  left  leg,  his  left  arm  and  wrist,  all  his  left 
side  jerked  with  the  suddenness  of  a  sprung  trap;  so  violent 
was  the  shock  that  the  entire  bed  shook  and  creaked  with 
it.  Then  the  inevitable  reaction  followed,  the  slow  crisp 
ing  and  torsion  of  his  nerves,  twisting  upon  each  other  like 
a  vast  swarm  of  tiny  serpents ;  it  seemed  to  begin  with  his 
ankles,  spreading  slowly  to  every  part  of  his  body;  it  was  a 
veritable  torture,  so  poignant  that  Vandover  groaned 
under  it,  shutting  his  eyes.  He  could  not  keep  quiet  a 
second  —  to  lie  in  bed  was  an  impossibility;  he  threw  the 
bed-clothes  from  him  and  sprang  up.  He  did  not  light  the 
gas,  but  threw  on  his  bathrobe  and  began  to  walk  the 
floor.  Even  as  he  walked,  his  eyelids  drooped  lower  and 
lower.  The  need  of  sleep  overcame  him  like  a  narcotic, 
but  as  soon  as  he  was  about  to  lose  himself  he  would  be 


VANDOVER*  AND  THE  BRUTE  307 

suddenly  and  violently  awakened  by  the  same  shock, 
the  same  jangling  recoil  of  his  nerves.  Then  his  hands  and 
head  seemed  to  swell;  next,  it  was  as  though  the  whole 
room  was  too  small  for  him.  He  threw  open  the  window 
and,  leaning  upon  his  elbows,  looked  out. 

The  clouds  had  begun  to  break,  the  rain  was  gradually 
ceasing,  leaving  in  the  air  a  damp,  fresh  smell,  the  smell  of 
wet  asphalt  and  the  odour  of  dripping  woodwork.  It  was 
warm;  the  atmosphere  was  dank,  heavy,  tepid.  One  or 
two  stars  were  out,  and  a  faint  gray  light  showed  him  the 
vast  reach  of  roofs  below  stretching  away  to  meet  the 
abrupt  rise  of  Telegraph  Hill.  Not  far  off  the  slender, 
graceful  smokestack  puffed  steadily,  throwing  off  contin 
ually  the  little  flock  of  white  jets  that  rose  into  the  air  very 
brave  and  gay,  but  in  the  end  dwindled  irresolutely,  dis 
couraged,  disheartened,  fading  sadly  away,  vanishing  un 
der  the  night,  like  illusions  disappearing  at  the  first  touch 
of  the  outside  world.  As  Vandover  leaned  from  his  win 
dow,  looking  out  into  the  night  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing, 
the  college  slogan  rose  again  from  the  great  crowd  of  stu 
dents  who  still  continued  to  hold  the  streets. 

"Rah,  rah,  rah!     Rah,  rah,  rah!" 

He  turned  back  into  the  room,  groping  among  the  bot 
tles  on  his  washstand  for  his  bromide  of  potassium.  As 
he  poured  out  the  required  dose  into  the  teaspoon  his 
hand  twitched  again  sharply,  flirting  the  medicine  over 
his  bared  neck  and  chest,  exposed  by  the  bathrobe  which 
he  had  left  open  at  the  throat.  It  was  cold,  and  he  shiv 
ered  a  bit  as  he  wiped  it  dry  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

He  knew  very  well  that  his  nervous  attack  was  coming 
on  again.  As  he  set  down  the  bottle  upon  the  washstand 


SOS  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

he  muttered  to  himself,  "Now  I'm  going  to  have  a  night  of 
it."  He  began  to  walk  the  floor  again  with  great  strides. 
fighting  with  all  his  pitiful,  shattered  mind  against  the 
increasing  hysteria,  trying  to  keep  out  of  his  brain  the 
strange  hallucination  that  assailed  it  from  time  to  time, 
the  hallucination  of  a  thing  four-footed,  a  thing  that 
sulked  and  snarled.  The  hotel  grew  quiet;  a  watchman 
went  down  the  hall  turning  out  each  alternate  gas  jet. 
Just  outside  of  the  door  was  a  burner  in  a  red  globe,  fixed 
at  a  stair  landing  to  show  the  exit  in  case  of  fire. 
This  burned  all  night  and  it  streamed  through  the  tran 
som  of  Vandover's  room,  splotching  the  ceiling  with  a 
great  square  of  red  light.  Vandover  was  in  torment, 
overcome  now  by  that  same  fear  with  which  he  had  at 
last  become  so  familiar,  the  unreasoning  terror  of  some 
thing  unknown.  He  uttered  an  exclamation,  a  suppressed 
cry  of  despair,  of  misery,  and  then  suddenly  checked  him 
self,  astonished,  seized  with  the  fancy  that  his  cry  was  not 
human,  was  not  of  himself,  but  of  something  four-footed, 
the  snarl  of  some  exasperated  brute.  He  paused  abruptly 
in  his  walk,  listening,  for  what  he  did  not  know.  The 
silence  of  the  great  city  spread  itself  around  him,  like  the 
still  waters  of  some  vast  lagoon.  Through  the  silence  he 
heard  the  noise  of  the  throng  of  college  youths.  They 
were  returning,  doubling  upon  their  line  of  march.  A 
long  puff  of  tepid  air  breathing  through  the  open  window 
brought  to  his  ears  the  distant  joyous  sound  of  their 
slogan : 

"  Rah,  rah,  rah !     Rah,  rah,  rah ! " 

They  passed  by  along  the  adjacent  street,  their  sounds 
growing  faint.  Vandover  took  up  his  restless  pacing 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  309 

again.  Little  by  little  the  hallucination  gained  upon 
him;  little  by  little  his  mind  slipped  from  his  grasp.  The 
wolf  —  the  beast  —  whatever  the  creature  was,  seemed 
in  his  diseased  fancy  to  grow  stronger  in  him  from  moment 
to  moment.  But  with  all  his  strength  he  fought  against 
it,  fought  against  this  strange  mania,  that  overcame  him 
at  these  periodical  intervals  —  fought  with  his  hands  so 
tightly  clenched  that  the  knuckles  grew  white,  that  the 
nails  bit  into  the  palm.  It  seemed  to  him  that  in  some 
way  his  personality  divided  itself  into  three.  There  was 
himself,  the  real  Vandover  of  every  day,  the  same  familiar 
Vandover  that  looked  back  at  him  from  his  mirror;  then 
there  was  the  wolf,  the  beast,  whatever  the  creature  was 
that  lived  in  his  flesh,  and  that  struggled  with  him  now, 
striving  to  gain  the  ascendency,  to  absorb  the  real  Van 
dover  into  its  own  hideous  identity;  and  last  of  all,  there 
was  a  third  self,  formless,  very  vague,  elusive,  that  stood 
aside  and  watched  the  strife  of  the  other  two.  But  as  he 
fought  against  his  madness,  concentrating  all  his  atten 
tion  with  a  tremendous  effort  of  the  will,  the  queer  numb 
ness  that  came  upon  his  mind  whenever  he  exerted  it 
enwrapped  his  brain  like  a  fog,  and  this  third  self  grew 
vaguer  than  ever,  dwindled  and  disappeared.  Somehow 
it  seemed  to  be  associated  with  consciousness,  for  after 
this  the  sense  of  the  reality  of  things  grew  dim  and  blurred 
to  him.  He  ceased  to  know  exactly  what  he  was  doing. 
His  intellectual  parts  dropped  away  one  by  one,  leaving 
only  the  instincts,  the  blind,  unreasoning  impulses  of  the 
animal. 

Still  he  continued  his  restless,  lurching  walk  back  and 
forth  in  his  room,  his  head  hanging  low  and  swinging  from 


310  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

side  to  side  with  the  movement  of  his  gait.  He  had  become 
so  nervous  that  the  restraint  imposed  upon  his  freedom  of 
movement  by  his  bathrobe  and  his  loose  night-clothes 
chafed  and  irritated  him.  At  length  he  had  stripped  off 
everything. 

Suddenly  and  without  the  slightest  warning  Vandover's 
hands  came  slowly  above  his  head  and  he  dropped  for 
ward,  landing  upon  his  palms.  All  in  an  instant  he  had 
given  way,  yielding  in  a  second  to  the  strange  halluci 
nation  of  that  four-footed  thing  that  sulked  and  snarled. 
Now  without  a  moment's  stop  he  ran  back  and  forth  along 
the  wall  of  the  room,  upon  the  palms  of  his  hands  and 
his  toes,  a  ludicrous  figure,  like  that  of  certain  clowns 
one  sees  at  the  circus,  contortionists  walking  about  the 
sawdust,  imitating  some  kind  of  enormous  dog.  Still  he 
swung  his  head  from  side  to  side  with  the  motion  of  his 
shuffling  gait,  his  eyes  dull  and  fixed.  At  long  intervals 
he  uttered  a  sound,  half  word,  half  cry,  "Wolf  —  wolf!" 
but  it  was  muffled,  indistinct,  raucous,  coming  more  from 
his  throat  than  from  his  lips.  It  might  easily  have  been 
the  growl  of  an  animal.  A  long  time  passed.  Naked, 
four-footed,  Vandover  ran  back  and  forth  the  length  of 
the  room. 

By  an  hour  after  midnight  the  sky  was  clear,  all  the 
stars  were  out,  the  moon  a  thin,  low-swinging  scimitar, 
set  behind  the  black  mass  of  the  roofs  of  the  city,  leaving, 
a  pale  bluish  light  that  seemed  to  come  from  all  quarters 
of  the  horizon.  As  the  great  stillness  grew  more  and  more 
complete,  the  persistent  puffing  of  the  slender  tin  stack, 
the  three  gay  and  joyous  little  noises,  each  sounding  like  a 
note  of  discreet  laughter  interrupted  by  a  cough,  became 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  311 

clear  and  distinct.  Inside  the  room  there  was  no  sound 
except  the  persistent  patter  of  something  four-footed  going 
up  and  down.  At  length  even  this  sound  ceased  abruptly. 
Worn  out,  Vandover  had  just  fallen,  dropping  forward 
upon  his  face  with  a  long  breath.  He  lay  still,  sleeping 
at  last.  The  remnant  of  the  great  band  of  college  men 
went  down  an  adjacent  street,  raising  their  cadenced 
slogan  for  the  last  time.  It  came  through  the  open  win 
dow,  softened  as  it  were  by  the  warm  air,  thick  with  damp, 
through  which  it  travelled : 

"Rah,  rah,  rah!     Rah,  rah,  rah!" 

Naked,  exhausted,  Vandover  slept  profoundly,  stretched 
at  full  length  at  the  foot  of  the  bare,  white  wall  of  the  room 
beneath  two  of  the  little  placards,  scrawled  with  ink,  that 
read,  "Stove  here";  "Mona  Lisa  here." 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

ON  A  certain  Saturday  morning  two  years  later  Van- 
dover  awoke  in  his  room  at  the  Reno  House,  the  room  he 
had  now  occupied  for  fifteen  months. 

One  might  almost  say  that  he  had  been  expelled  from 
the  Lick  House.  For  a  time  he  had  tried  to  retain  his 
room  there  with  the  idea  of  paying  his  bills  by  the  money 
he  should  win  at  gambling.  But  his  bad  luck  was  now 
become  a  settled  thing  —  almost  invariably  he  lost.  At 
last  Ellis  and  the  Dummy  had  refused  to  play  with  him, 
since  he  was  never  able  to  pay  them  when  they  won. 
They  had  had  a  great  quarrel.  Ellis  broke  with  him  sul 
lenly,  growling  wrathf  ully  under  his  heavy  moustache,  and 
the  Dummy  had  written  upon  his  pad  —  so  hastily  and 
angrily  that  the  words  could  hardly  be  read  —  that  he 
would  not  play  with  professional  gamblers,  men  who 
supported  themselves  by  their  winnings.  Damn  it!  one 
had  to  be  a  gentleman. 

Next,  Vandover  had  tried  to  borrow  some  money  of 
Charlie  Geary.  Geary  had  told  him  that  he  could  not 
afford  as  much  as  Vandover  needed.  Then  Vandover 
became  enraged.  He  had  long  since  seen  that  Geary  had 
practically  swindled  him  out  of  his  block  in  the  Mission, 
and  at  that  very  moment  the  huge  boot  and  shoe  "con 
cern"  was  completing  the  factory  built  upon  the  ground 
that  Vandover  had  once  owned.  Geary  had  cleared  seven 

312 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  313 

thousand  dollars  on  his  "deal."  His  refusal  to  loan  his 
old-time  friend  fifty  dollars  upon  this  occasion  had  exas 
perated  Vandover  out  of  all  bounds.  There  was  a  scene. 
Vandover  told  Geary  what  he  thought  of  his  "deal"  in 
very  plain  words.  They  shouted  "swindler"  and  "gam 
bler"  into  each  other's  faces;  the  whole  office  was  aroused; 
Vandover  was  ejected  by  force.  On  a  stair  landing  half 
way  to  the  street  he  sat  down  and  cried  into  his  arms 
folded  upon  his  knees.  When  he  returned  to  his  room  he 
had  a  sudden  return  of  his  dreadful  nervous  malady  and 
barked  and  whined  under  the  bed. 

Then  Vandover  wrote  a  fifty- dollar  check  on  the  bank 

—  the  same  bank  that  had  just  notified  him  that  he  was 
overdrawn  —  and  passed  it  upon  young  Haight.  How 
he  came  to  do  the  thing  he  could  not  tell;  it  might  have 
been  the  influence  of  Geary's  successful  robbery,  or  it 
might  have  been  that  he  had  at  last  lost  all  principle,  all 
sense  of  honour  and  integrity.  At  any  rate,  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  feel  very  sorry.  He  knew  that  young 
Haight  would  not  prosecute  him  for  the  dishonesty;  he 
traded  upon  Haight's  magnanimity;  he  only  felt  glad  that 
he  had  the  fifty  dollars.  But  by  this  time  Vandover  did 
not  even  wonder  at  his  own  baseness  and  degradation. 
A  few  years  ago  this  would  have  been  the  case;  now  his 
character  was  so  changed  that  the  theft  seemed  somehow 
consistent.  He  had  destroyed  young  Haight's  friendship 
for  him.  He  had  cast  from  him  his  college  chum,  his  best 
friend,  but  neither  did  this  affect  him.  Nothing  made 
much  difference  to  him  now. 

Nevertheless,   Vandover  was   evicted    from   the   Lick 

House  three  days  after  he  had  stolen  young  Haight's 


314  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

money.  Instead  of  paying  his  bills  with  the  amount,  he 
gambled  it  away  in  a  back  room  of  a  new  cafe  on  Market 
Street  with  Toby,  the  red-eyed  waiter  from  the  Imperial, 
and  a  certain  German  "professor,"  a  billiard  marker, 
who  wore  a  waistcoat  figured  with  little  designs  of  the 
Eiffel  Tower,  and  who  was  a  third  owner  in  a  trotting  mare 
named  Tomato  Ketchup. 

Vandover  was  now  left  with  only  his  bonds,  his  U.  S, 
4  per  cents.  These  brought  him  in  but  sixty-nine  dol 
lars  a  quarter,  or  as  he  had  had  it  arranged,  twenty-three 
dollars  a  month.  Just  at  this  time,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  a 
veritable  God  from  the  Machine,  Vandover's  lawyer,  Mr. 
Field,  found  him  an  opportunity  to  earn  some  money. 
For  the  first  and  only  time  in  his  life  Vandover  knew  what 
it -was  to  work  for  a  living.  The  work  that  Field  secured 
for  him  was  the  work  of  painting  those  little  pictures  on 
the  lacquered  surface  of  iron  safes,  those  little  oval  land 
scapes  between  the  lines  of  red  and  gold  lettering  —  land 
scapes,  rugged  gorges,  ocean  steamships  under  all  sail, 
mountain  lakes  with  sailboats  careening  upon  their  sur 
faces,  the  boat  indicated  by  two  little  triangular  dabs  of 
Chinese  white,  one  for  the  sail  itself  and  the  other  for  its 
reflection  in  the  water.  Sometimes  even  he  was  called 
upon  to  paint  other  little  pictures  upon  the  sides  of  big 
express  wagons  —  two  horses,  one  white  and  the  other 
bay,  galloping  very  free  in  an  open  field,  their  manes  and 
tails  flying,  or  a  bulldog,  very  savage,  sitting  upon  a  green 
and  black  safe,  or  the  head  of  a  mastiff  with  a  spiked  collar 
about  his  neck. 

What  with  the  pay  for  this  sort  of  work  and  the  interest 
of  his  bonds,  Vandover  managed  to  lead  a  haphazard  sort 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  315 

of  life,  living  about  in  cheap  lodging-houses  and  cheap 
restaurants.  But  he  was  never  more  than  a  second-class 
workman,  and  he  was  so  irregular  that  he  could  never  be 
depended  upon. 

The  moment  he  began  to  paint  again  —  even  to  paint 
such  pitiful  little  pictures  as  these  —  the  same  familiar 
experience  repeated  itself,  the  unwillingness  of  his  fingers, 
their  failure  to  rightly  interpret  his  ideas,  the  resulting 
crudity  of  his  work,  the  sudden  numbness  in  his  brain, 
the  queer,  tense  sensation  behind  his  eyes.  But  Vandover 
had  long  since  become  accustomed  to  these  symptoms  and 
would  not  have  minded  them  at  this  time  had  it  not  been 
that  they  were  occasionally  followed  by  a  nervous  twitch 
ing  and  jerking  of  his  whole  arm,  so  that  sometimes  he 
could  not  hold  the  brush  steady  a  minute  at  a  time. 

For  two  years  he  had  drifted  about  the  city,  living  now 
here  and  now  there,  a  real  hand-to-mouth  existence,  sink 
ing  a  little  lower  each  day.  Now,  no  one  knew  him.  He 
had  completely  passed  out  of  the  lives  of  Haight,  Geary, 
and  Ellis,  just  as  before  he  had  passed  out  of  the  life  of 
Turner  Ravis.  At  the  end  of  the  first  year  they  had  ceased 
even  to  think  about  him.  For  a  long  time  they  thought 
that  he  was  dead,  until  one  day  Ellis  declared  that  he  had 
seen  him  far  down  on  Kearney  Street,  near  the  Barbary 
Coast,  looking  at  the  pictures  in  the  illustrated  weeklies 
that  were  tacked  upon  the  show-board  on  the  sidewalk 
in  front  of  a  stationer's.  Ellis  had  told  the  others  that 
on  this  occasion  Vandover  seemed  to  be  more  sickly  than 
ever;  he  described  his  appearance  in  detail,  wagging  his 
head  at  his  own  story,  pursing  his  lips,  putting  his  chin 
in  the  air.  Vandover  had  worn  an  old  paint-stained  pair 


316  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

of  blue  trousers,  fastened  with  a  strap,  so  that  his  shirt 
showed  below  his  vest;  he  had  no  collar,  and  he  had  al 
lowed  his  beard  to  grow,  a  straggling  thin  beard,  through 
which  one  could  see  the  buttons  of  his  shirt,  a  dirty  beard 
full  of  the  cracker  crumbs  from  the  free  lunch-counters 
of  cheap  saloons;  he  had  on  a  hat  which  he  had  worn  when 
they  had  known  him;  but  one  should  see  that  hat  now! 

It  was  all  true :  little  by  little  Vandover  had  abandoned 
all  interest  in  his  personal  appearance.  Of  course  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  dress  well  at  this  time,  but  he  had 
even  lost  regard  for  decency  and  cleanliness.  He  washed 
himself  but  rarely.  He  had  even  acquired  the  habit  of 
sleeping  with  all  his  clothes  on  during  the  colder  nights  of 
the  year. 

Nothing  made  any  difference.  Gradually  his  mind 
grew  more  and  more  clouded;  he  became  stupid,  sluggish. 
He  went  about  the  city  from  dawn  to  dark,  his  feet  drag 
ging,  his  head  hanging  low  and  swinging  from  side  to  side 
with  the  motion  of  his  gait.  He  rarely  spoke;  his  eyes 
took  on  a  dull,  glazed  appearance,  filmy,  like  the  eyes 
of  a  dead  fish.  At  certain  intervals  his  mania  came  upon 
him,  the  strange  hallucination  of  something  four-footed, 
the  persistent  fancy  that  the  brute  in  him  had  now  grown 
so  large,  so  insatiable,  that  it  had  taken  everything,  even 
to  his  very  self,  his  own  identity  —  that  he  had  literally 
become  the  brute.  The  attack  passed  off  and  left  him  won 
dering,  perplexed. 

The  Reno  House,  where  Vandover  had  lived  for  some 
fifteen  months,  was  a  sort  of  hotel  on  Sacramento  Street 
below  Kearney.  The  neighbourhood  was  low  —  just  on 
the  edge  of  the  Barbary  Coast,  abounding  in  stores 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  317 

for  second-hand  clothing,  saloons,  pawnshops,  gun-stores, 
bird-stores,  and  the  shops  of  Chinese  cobblers.  Around 
the  corner  on  Kearney  Street  was  a  concert  hall,  a  dive,  to 
which  the  admission  was  free.  Near  by  was  the  old  Plaza. 

Underneath  the  hotel  on  the  ground  floor  were  two 
saloons,  a  barber  shop,  and  a  broom  manufactory.  The 
lodgers  themselves  were  for  the  most  part  "transients," 
sailors  lounging  about  shore  between  two  voyages,  Swedes 
and  Danes,  farmhands,  grape-pickers,  and  cow-punchers 
from  distant  parts  of  the  state,  a  few  lost  women,  and  Jap 
anese  cooks  and  second-boys  remaining  there  while  they 
advertised  for  positions. 

Vandover  sank  to  the  grade  of  these  people  at  once 
with  that  fatal  adaptability  to  environment  which  he  had 
permitted  himself  to  foster  throughout  his  entire  life, 
and  which  had  led  him  to  be  contented  in  almost  any 
circumstances.  It  was  as  if  the  brute  in  him  were  forever 
seeking  a  lower  level,  wallowing  itself  lower  and  lower  into 
the  filth  and  into  the  mire,  content  to  be  foul,  content  to 
be  prone,  to  be  inert  and  supine. 

It  was  Saturday  morning  about  a  quarter  of  nine.  The 
wet  season  had  begun  early  that  year.  Though  this  was 
but  the  middle  of  September,  the  rain  had  fallen  steadily 
since  the  previous  Wednesday.  Its  steady  murmur,  pro 
longed  and  soothing  like  the  purring  of  a  great  cat,  filled 
Vandover's  room  with  a  pleasant  sound.  The  air  of  the 
room  was  thick  and  foul,  heavy  with  the  odour  of  cooking, 
onions,  and  stale  bedding.  It  was  very  warm;  there  was 
no  ventilation.  Vandover  lay  upon  the  bed  half  awake, 
dozing  under  the  thick  coarse  blankets  and  soiled  counter 
pane.  With  the  exception  of  his  shoes  and  coat  he  wore 


318  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

all  his  clothes.  He  was  glad  to  be  warm,  to  be  stupefied 
by  the  heat  of  the  bedding  and  the  bad  air  of  the  room. 

In  the  next  room  a  Portuguese  fruit  vender,  very  drunk, 
was  fighting  with  the  tin  pitcher  and  pasteboard  bowl  on 
his  wash-stand,  trying  to  wet  his  head,  swearing  and  mak 
ing  a  hideous  clatter.  At  length  he  tipped  them  over  upon 
the  floor  and  gave  the  pitcher  a  great  kick.  The  noise 
roused  Vandover;  he  sat  up  in  bed,  stretching,  rubbing 
his  hands  over  his  face.  About  the  same  moment  the 
clock  in  the  office  downstairs  struck  nine.  Vandover  let 
his  feet  drop  to  the  floor  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
looking  vaguely  about  him.  His  face,  ordinarily  very 
pale,  was  oily  from  sleep  and  red  upon  one  side  from  long 
contact  with  the  pillow,  the  marks  of  the  creases  still 
showing  upon  his  cheek.  His  long  straight  hair  fell  about 
his  eyes  and  ears  like  a  tangled  mane.  A  thin  straggling 
beard  and  moustache,  of  a  brown  much  lighter  than  his 
hair,  covered  the  lower  part  of  his  face.  His  nose  was  long 
and  pinched,  while  brown  and  puffed  pockets  hung  beneath 
his  eyes. 

He  wore  a  white  shirt  very  crumpled  and  dirty,  a  low 
standing  collar  and  a  black  four-in-hand  necktie,  very 
greasy.  His  trousers  were  striped  and  of  a  slate  blue 
colour  —  the  "blue  pants"  of  the  ready-made  clothing 
stores.  Still  sitting  on  the  bed,  Vandover  continued  his 
stupid  gaze  about  the  room. 

The  room  was  small,  and  at  some  long-forgotten,  almost 
prehistoric  period  had  been  covered  with  a  yellowish 
paper,  stamped  with  a  huge  pattern  of  flowers  that  looked 
like  the  flora  of  a  carboniferous  strata,  a  pattern  repeated' 
to  infinity  wherever  the  eye  turned.  Newspapers  were 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  319 

pasted  upon  the  ceiling  and  a  great  square  of  very  dirty 
matting  covered  the  floor.  There  were  a  few  pieces  of 
furniture,  very  old-fashioned,  made  of  pine,  with  a  black 
walnut  veneer,  two  chairs,  a  washstand  and  the  bed.  A 
great  pile  of  old  newspapers  tied  up  with  bale  rope  was 
kicked  into  one  corner.  Two  gas  brackets  without  globes 
stretched  forth  their  long  arms  over  the  empty  space 
where  the  bureau  should  have  been.  Under  the  single 
window  was  Vandover 's  trunk,  and  upon  it  his  colour  box 
and  pots  of  paint.  His  hat  hung  upon  a  hook  screwed  to 
the  door.  The  hat  had  once  been  black,  but  it  had  long 
since  turned  to  a  greenish  hue,  and  sweat  stains  were  show 
ing  about  the  band. 

Vandover  dressed  slowly.  He  straightened  his  hair 
a  bit  before  the  cheap  mirror  that  hung  over  the  wash- 
stand,  putting  on  his  hat  immediately  after  to  keep  it  in 
place.  He  washed  his  hands  in  the  dirty  water  that  had 
stood  in  his  pasteboard  bowl  since  the  previous  afternoon, 
but  left  his  face  as  it  was.  He  put  on  his  coat,  an  old  cut 
away  which  had  been  his  best  years  ago,  but  which  was 
now  absurdly  small  for  him,  the  breast  all  spotted  and 
streaked  with  old  stains  of  soup  and  gravy.  Last  of  all 
he  drew  on  his  shoes.  They  were  new.  Vandover  had 
bought  them  two  days  before  for  a  dollar  and  ninety  cents. 
They  were  lined  so  as  to  make  socks  superfluous. 

It  had  been  a  bad  week  with  Vandover.  The  paint- 
shop  had  given  him  no  work  to  do  for  ten  days,  and  he  had 
been  forced  to  get  along  in  some  way  upon  the  interest  of 
his  bonds  —  that  is  to  say,  upon  five  dollars  and  seventy- 
five  cents  a  week.  Two  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  of 
this  went  for  his  room  rent,  one  dollar  and  ninety  for  his 


320  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

shoes,  and  Tuesday  afternoon  he  had  bought  a  package  of 
cigarettes  for  ten  cents.  By  Saturday  morning  he  had 
spent  seventy-five  cents  for  food. 

When  the  paint-shop  gave  him  enough  work  it  was  Van- 
dover's  custom  to  buy  a  week's  commutation  ticket  at  a 
certain  restaurant.  He  never  ate  at  the  hotel;  it  was  too 
expensive.  By  the  commutation  system  he  could  buy  two 
dollars  and  twenty-five  cents'  worth  of  meals  for  two 
dollars,  paying  in  tickets  at  each  meal. 

But  such  a  thing  had  been  impossible  this  week.  He 
had  been  forced  to  fall  back  upon  the  free-lunch  system. 
In  two  years  Vandover  had  learned  a  great  deal;  even  his 
dulled  wits  had  been  sharpened  when  it  had  come  to  a 
question  of  food.  The  brute  in  him  might  destroy  all  his 
finer  qualities,  but  even  the  brute  had  to  feed.  When 
work  failed  him  at  the  beginning  of  the  week  Vandover 
was  not  unprepared  for  the  contingency;  the  thing  had 
happened  before  and  he  knew  how  to  meet  it. 

On  Monday  he  beat  up  and  down  the  Barbary  Coast, 
picking  out  fifteen  or  twenty  saloons  which  supported  a 
free-lunch  counter  in  connection  with  the  bar.  He  took 
his  breakfast  Monday  morning  at  the  first  of  these.  He 
paid  five  cents  for  a  glass  of  beer  and  ate  his  morning's 
meal  at  the  lunch  counter:  stew,  bread,  and  cheese.  At 
noon  he  made  his  dinner  at  the  second  saloon  on  his 
route.  Here  he  had  another  glass  of  beer,  a  great  plate 
of  soup,  potato  salad,  and  pretzels.  Thus  he  managed  to 
feed  himself  throughout  the  week. 

It  was  always  his  great  desire  to  feed  well  at  Sunday's 
dinner,  to  spend  at  least  a  quarter  on  that  meal.  It  was 
something  to  be  looked  forward  to  throughout  the  entire 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  321 

week.  But  to  get  twenty -five  cents  ahead  when  he  was 
out  of  work  was  bitter  hard.  That  week  he  had  started 
out  with  the  determination  to  eat  but  two  meals  a  day. 
He  would  thus  save  five  cents  daily  and  by  Sunday  morn 
ing  would  be  thirty  cents  to  the  good.  But  each  day  his 
resolution  broke  down.  At  breakfast  he  would  resolve 
to  go  without  his  lunch,  at  lunch  he  would  make  up  his 
rnind  to  go  without  supper,  and  at  supper  he  would  tell 
himself  that  now  at  least  his  determination  was  irrevo 
cable  —  he  would  eat  no  breakfast  the  next  morning.  But 
on  each  and  every  occasion  his  hunger  proved  too  strong, 
his  feet  carried  him  irresistibly  to  the  saloon  lunch  coun 
ters,  whether  he  would  or  no.  At  no  time  in  his  life 
had  Vandover  accustomed  himself  to  self-denial;  he  could 
hardly  begin  now. 

At  length  Saturday  morning  had  come,  and  while  he  was 
dressing  he  realized  that  he  could  not  look  forward  to  any 
unusual  dinner  the  next  day  at  noon.  The  disappoint 
ment  had  all  the  force  of  an  unexpected  disaster  and  he 
began  keenly  to  regret  his  weakness  of  the  past  week. 
Suddenly  Vandover  resolved  that  he  would  go  without 
food  all  that  day;  it  would  be  a  saving  of  fifteen  cents, 
which,  added  to  the  five  cents  that  he  would  spend  any 
way  for  his  dinner,  would  almost  make  a  quarter.  He 
knew  where  he  could  dine  excellently  well  for  twenty  cents. 
However,  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  go  without 
his  Sunday  morning's  breakfast.  That,  he  told  himself, 
he  must  eat. 

Once  dressed,  Vandover  went  out.  Fortunately,  the 
rain  had  stopped.  He  went  on  down  through  the  reek 
ing,  steaming  streets  to  one  of  the  big  fruit  markets  not 


322  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

far  from  the  water  front.  The  Portuguese  fruit  vender 
who  roomed  next  to  him  at  the  Reno  House  was  employed 
at  a  stall  here.  Vandover  knew  him  a  little,  and  it  was 
not  hard  for  him  to  get  a  thin  slice  of  cocoanut  out  from  the 
inside  rind  of  one  of  those  that  were  lying  cracked  open 
among  his  other  wares. 

All  the  morning  Vandover  chewed  this  slice  of  cocoa- 
nut,  at  the  same  time  drinking  a  great  deal  of  water;  for 
hours  he  deadened  the  pang  of  hunger  by  this  means. 
He  passed  the  time  for  the  most  part  sitting  on  the  benches 
in  the  Plaza  reading  an  old  newspaper  that  he  had  found 
under  a  seat.  The  sun  came  out  a  little;  Vandover  found 
the  warmth  very  grateful.  He  told  himself  that  he  could 
easily  hold  out  until  the  next  morning. 

He  had  forgotten  about  the  time  and  was  surprised 
when  the  whistles  all  over  the  town  began  to  blow  for 
noon.  In  an  instant  Vandover  was  hungry  again.  It 
was  all  one  that  he  chewed  the  little  pulp  of  cocoanut  rind 
more  vigorously  than  ever,  swallowed  great  draughts  of 
water  at  the  public  fountains;  the  little  gnawing  just 
between  his  chest  and  his  stomach  began  to  persist.  He 
got  up  and  began  to  walk.  He  left  the  Plaza  behind  him, 
crossed  Kearney  Steet  and  went  on  down  Clay  Street  till 
he  reached  the  water  front.  For  a  time  he  found  a  cer 
tain  diversion  among  the  shipping  and  especially  in  watch 
ing  a  gang  of  caulkers  knocking  away  at  the  seams  of  an 
immense  coal  steamer.  He  sat  upon  a  great  iron  clamped 
pile,  spitting  into  the  yellow  water  below.  The  air  was 
full  of  the  smell  of  bilge  and  oakum  and  fish;  the  thousands 
of  masts  made  a  gray  maze  against  the  sky;  occasionally 
an  empty  truck  trundled  over  the  hollow  docks  with  a 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  323 

sound  of  distant  cannon.  A  weakness,  a  little  trembling 
that  seemed  to  come  from  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  began 
upon  Vandover.  He  was  very  hungry.  Evidently  the 
slice  of  cocoanut  was  no  longer  effective.  He  swallowed 
it  and  lit  a  cigarette,  one  of  the  half-dozen  still  left  of  the 
pack  he  had  bought  the  Tuesday  before. 

He  smoked  the  cigarette  slowly,  inhaling  as  much  of  the 
smoke  as  he  could.  This  quieted  him  for  an  hour,  but  he 
had  the  folly  to  smoke  again  at  the  end  of  that  time,  and 
at  once  —  as  he  might  have  known  —  was  hungry  again. 
Until  dark  he  struggled  along,  drinking  water  continually, 
chewing  chips  of  wood,  toothpicks,  bits  of  straw,  anything 
so  that  the  action  of  his  jaws  might  cheat  the  demands  of 
his  stomach.  Toward  half-past  seven  in  the  evening  he 
returned  to  his  room  in  the  Reno  House.  If  he  could  get 
to  sleep  that  would  be  best  of  all.  On  the  stairs  of  the 
hotel,  while  going  up  to  his  room,  the  strong  smell  of  cooking 
onions  came  suddenly  to  his  nostrils.  It  was  delicious.  Van 
dover  breathed  in  the  warm  savour  with  long  sighs,  clos 
ing  his  eyes;  a  great  feebleness  overcame  him.  He  asked 
himself  how  he  could  get  through  the  next  twelve  hours. 

An  hour  later  he  went  to  bed,  hiccoughing  from  the 
water  he  had  been  drinking  all  day.  By  this  time  he  had 
torn  the  paper  from  one  of  his  cigarettes  and  was  chewing 
the  tobacco.  This  was  his  last  resort,  an  expedient  which 
he  fell  back  upon  only  in  great  extremity,  as  it  invariably 
made  him  sick  to  his  stomach.  He  slept  a  little,  but  in 
half  an  hour  was  broad  awake  again,  gagging  and  retching 
dreadfully.  There  was  nothing  on  his  stomach  to  throw 
up,  and  now  at  length  the  hunger  in  him  raged  like  a  wolf. 
Vandover  was  in  veritable  torment. 


324  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

He  could  not  keep  his  thoughts  away  from  the  money 
in  his  pocket,  a  nickel  and  two  dimes.  He  could  eat  if 
he  wanted  to,  could  satisfy  this  incessant  craving.  At 
every  moment  the  temptation  grew  stronger.  Why  should 
he  wait  until  morning?  He  had  the  money;  it  was  only 
a  matter  of  a  few  minutes'  walk  to  the  nearest  saloon. 
But  he  set  his  face  against  this  desire;  he  had  held  out 
so  long  that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  give  in  now;  he  was 
not  so  very  hungry  after  all.  No,  no;  he  would  not  give 
in,  he  was  strong  enough;  as  long  as  he  used  his  will  he 
need  not  succumb.  It  was  just  a  question  of  asserting 
his  strength  of  mind,  of  calling  up  the  better  part  of  him. 
Even  better  than  eating  would  be  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  he  had  shown  himself  stronger  than  his 
lower  animal  appetite.  No;  he  would  not  give  in. 

Hardly  a  minute  after  he  had  arrived  at  this  resolu 
tion  Vandover  found  himself  drawing  on  his  coat  and  shoes 
making  ready  to  go  out  —  to  go  out  and  eat. 

The  gas  in  the  room  was  lit,  his  money,  the  nickel  and 
the  two  dimes,  was  shut  in  one  of  his  fists.  He  was  dress 
ing  himself  with  one  hand,  dressing  with  feverish,  precipi 
tate  haste.  What  had  happened?  He  marvelled  at 
himself,  but  did  not  check  his  preparations  an  instant. 
He  could  not  stop,  whether  he  would  or  no;  there  was 
something  in  him  stronger  than  himself,  something  that 
urged  him  on  his  feet,  that  drove  him  out  into  the  street, 
something  that  clamoured  for  food  and  that  would  not 
be  gainsaid.  It  was  the  animal  in  him,  the  brute,  that 
would  be  fed,  the  evil,  hideous  brute  grown  now  so  strong 
that  Vandover  could  not  longer  resist  it  —  the  brute  that 
had  long  since  destroyed  all  his  finer  qualities  but  that 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  325 

still  demanded  to  be  fed,  still  demanded  to  live.  All  the 
little  money  that  Vandover  had  saved  during  the  day  he 
spent  that  night  among  the  coffee  houses,  the  restaurants, 
and  the  saloons  of  the  Barbary  Coast,  continuing  to  eat 
even  after  his  hunger  was  satisfied.  Toward  daylight  he 
returned  to  his  room,  and  all  dressed  as  he  was  flung  him 
self  face  downward  among  the  coarse  blankets  and  greasy 
counterpane.  For  nearly  eight  hours  he  slept  profoundly, 
with  long  snores,  prone,  inert,  crammed  and  gorged  with 
food. 

It  was  the  middle  of  Sunday  afternoon  when  he  awoke. 
He  roused  himself  and  going  over  to  the  Plaza  sat  for  a 
long  while  upon  one  of  the  benches.  It  was  a  very  bright 
afternoon  and  Vandover  sat  motionless  for  a  long  time  in 
the  sun  while  his  heavy  meal  digested,  very  happy,  con 
tent  merely  to  be  warm,  to  be  well  fed,  to  be  comfortable. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

THAT  winter  passed,  then  the  summer;  September  and 
October  came  and  went,  and  by  the  middle  of  November 
the  rains  set  in.  One  very  wet  afternoon  toward  the  end 
of  the  month  Charlie  Geary  sat  at  his  desk  in  his  own 
private  office.  He  was  unoccupied  for  the  moment, 
leaning  back  in  his  swivel  chair,  his  feet  on  the  table, 
smoking  a  cigar.  Geary  had  broken  from  his  old-time 
habit  of  smoking  only  so  many  cigars  as  he  could  pay  for 
by  saving  carfare.  He  was  doing  so  well  now  that  he  could 
afford  to  smoke  whenever  he  chose.  He  was  still  with 
the  great  firm  of  Beale  &  Storey,  and  while  not  in  the  part 
nership  as  yet,  had  worked  up  to  the  position  of  an  assist 
ant.  He  had  cases  of  his  own  now,  a  great  many  of 
them,  for  the  most  part  damage  suits  against  that  certain 
enormous  corporation  whom  it  was  said  was  ruining  the 
city  and  entire  state.  Geary  posed  as  one  of  its  bitterest 
enemies,  pushing  each  suit  brought  against  it  with  a  tire 
less  energy,  with  a  zeal  that  was  almost  vindictive.  He 
began  to  fit  into  his  own  niche,  in  the  eyes  of  the  public, 
and  just  in  proportion  as  the  corporation  was  hated, 
Geary  was  admired.  Money  came  to  him  very  fast.  He 
was  hardly  thirty  at  this  time,  but  could  already  be  called 
a  rich  man. 

His  "deal"  with  Vandover  had  given  him  a  taste  for 
real  estate,  and  now  and  then,  with  the  greatest  caution, 

326 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  327 

he  made  a  few  discreet  investments.  At  present  he  had 
just  completed  a  row  of  small  cottages  across  the  street 
from  the  boot  and  shoe  factory.  The  cottages  held  two 
rooms  and  a  large  kitchen.  Geary  had  calculated  that 
the  boot  and  shoe  concern  would  employ  nearly  a  thou 
sand  operatives,  and  he  had  built  his  row  with  the  view  of 
accommodating  a  few  of  them  who  had  families  and  who 
desired  to  live  near  the  factory.  His  agents  were  Adams 
&  Brunt. 

It  was  toward  half-past  five,  there  was  nothing  more 
that  Geary  could  do  that  day,  and  for  a  moment  he  leaned 
back  in  his  swivel  chair,  before  going  home,  smiling  a 
little,  very  well  pleased  with  himself.  He  was  still  as 
clever  and  shrewd  as  ever,  still  devoured  with  an  incarnate 
ambition,  still  delighted  when  he  could  get  the  better  of 
any  one.  He  was  yet  a  young  man;  with  the  start  he 
had  secured  for  himself,  and  with  the  exceptional  faculties, 
the  faculties  of  self-confidence  and  "push"  that  he  knew 
himself  to  possess,  there  was  no  telling  to  what  position 
he  might  attain.  He  knew  that  it  was  only  a  question  of 
time  —  of  a  short  time  even  —  when  he  would  be  the 
practical  head  of  the  great  firm.  Everything  he  turned 
his  hand  to  was  a  success.  His  row  of  houses  in  the  Mis 
sion  might  be  enlarged  to  a  veritable  settlement  for  every 
workman  in  the  neighbourhood.  His  youth,  his  clever 
ness,  and  his  ambition,  supported  by  his  money  on  the 
one  hand,  and  on  the  other  by  the  vast  machinery  of  the 
great  law  firm,  could  raise  him  to  a  great  place  in  the 
world  of  men.  Gazing  through  the  little  blue  haze  of 
his  cigar  smoke,  he  began  to  have  vague  ideas,  ideas  of 
advancement,  of  political  successes.  Politics  fascinated 


328  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

him  —  such  a  field  of  action  seemed  to  be  the  domain 
for  which  he  was  precisely  suited  —  not  the  politics  of  the 
city  or  of  the  state;  not  the  nasty  little  squabbling  of 
boodlers,  lobbyists,  and  supervisors,  but  something  large, 
something  inspiring,  something  OP  a  tremendous  scale, 
something  to  which  one  could  give  up  one's  whole  life  and 
energy,  something  to  which  one  could  sacrifice  everything 
—  friendships,  fortunes,  scruples,  principles,  life  itself,  no 
matter  what,  anything  to  be  a  "success,"  to  "arrive,"  to 
"get  there,"  to  attain  the  desired  object  in  spite  of  the 
whole  world,  to  ride  on  at  it,  trampling  down  or  smashing 
through  everything  that  stood  in  the  way,  blind,  deaf, 
fists  and  teeth  shut  tight.  Not  the  little  squabbling  pol 
itics  of  the  city  or  state,  but  national  politics,  the  sway 
and  government  of  a  whole  people,  the  House,  the  Senate, 
the  cabinet  and  the  next  —  why  not?  —  the  highest,  the 
best  of  all,  the  Executive.  Yes,  Geary  aspired  even  to  the 
Presidency. 

For  a  moment  he  allowed  himself  the  indulgence  of  the 
delightful  dream,  then  laughed  a  bit  at  his  own  absurdity. 
But  even  the  entertainment  of  so  vast  an  idea  had  made 
his  mind,  as  it  were,  big;  it  was  hard  to  come  down  to  the 
level  again.  In  spite  of  himself  he  went  on  reasoning  in 
stupendous  thoughts,  in  enormous  ideas,  figuring  with 
immense  abstractions.  And  then  after  all,  why  not? 
Other  men  had  striven  and  attained;  other  men  were  even 
now  striving,  other  men  would  "arrive";  why  should  not 
he?  As  well  he  as  another.  Every  man  for  himself  — 
that  was  his  maxim.  It  might  be  damned  selfish,  but  it 
was  human  nature:  the  weakest  to  the  wall,  the  strongest 
to  the  front.  Why  should  not  he  be  in  the  front?  Why 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  329 

not  in  the  very  front  rank?  Why  not  be  even  before  the 
front  rank  itself  —  the  leader?  Vast,  vague  ideas  passed 
slowly  across  the  vision  of  his  mind,  ideas  that  could 
hardly  be  formulated  into  thought,  ideas  of  the  infinite  herd 
of  humanity,  driven  on  as  if  by  some  enormous,  relentless  en 
gine,  driven  on  toward  some  fearful  distant  bourne,  driven 
on  recklessly  at  headlong  speed.  All  life  was  but  a  struggle 
to  keep  from  under  those  myriad  spinning  wheels  that 
dashed  so  close  behind.  Those  were  happiest  who  were 
farthest  to  the  front.  To  lag  behind  was  peril;  to  fall  was 
to  perish,  to  be  ridden  down,  to  be  beaten  to  the  dust,  to 
be  inexorably  crushed  and  blotted  out  beneath  that  myriad 
of  spinning  iron  wheels.  Geary  looked  up  quickly  and 
saw  Vandover  standing  in  the  doorway. 

For  the  moment  Geary  did  not  recognize  the  gaunt, 
shambling  figure  with  the  long  hair  and  dirty  beard,  the 
greenish  hat,  and  the  streaked  and  spotted  coat,  but  when 
he  did  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  anger  and  exasperation. 

"Look  here!"  he  cried,  "don't  you  think  you'd  better 
knock  before  you  come  in?  " 

Vandover  raised  a  hand  slowly  as  if  in  deprecation,  and 
answered  slowly  and  with  a  feeble,  tremulous  voice,  the 
voice  of  an  old  man:  "I  did  knock,  Mister  Geary;  I 
didn't  mean  no  offence."  He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of 
the  nearest  chair,  looking  vaguely  and  stupidly  about  on 
the  floor,  moving  his  head  instead  of  his  eyes,  repeating 
under  his  breath  from  time  to  time,  "No  offence  —  no, 
sir  —  no  offence!" 

"Shut  that  door!"  commanded  Geary.  Vandover 
obeyed.  He  wore  no  vest,  and  the  old  cutaway  coat, 
fastened  by  the  single  remaining  button,  exposed  his  shirt 


330  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

to  view,  abominably  filthy,  bulging  at  the  waist  like  a 
blouse.  The  "blue  pants,"  held  up  by  a  strap,  were  all 
foul  with  mud  and  grease  and  paint,  and  there  hung  about 
him  a  certain  odour,  that  peculiar  smell  of  poverty  and  of 
degradation,  the  smell  of  stale  clothes  and  of  unwashed 
bodies. 

"Well?"  said  Geary  abruptly. 

Vandover  put  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to  his  lips  and  rolled 
his  eyes  about  the  room,  avoiding  Geary's  glance;  then  he 
dropped  them  to  the  floor  again,  looking  at  the  pattern  in 
the  carpet. 

"Well,"  repeated  Geary,  irritated,  "you  know  I  haven't 
got  all  the  time  in  the  world."  All  at  once  Vandover  be 
gan  to  cry,  very  softly,  snuffling  with  his  nose,  his  chin 
twitching,  the  tears  running  through  his  thin,  sparse  beard. 

"Ah,  get  on  to  yourself!"  shouted  Geary,  now  thor 
oughly  disgusted.  "Quit  that!  Be  a  man,  will  you? 
Stop  that !  do  you  hear?  "  Vandover  obeyed,  catching  his 
breath  and  slowly  wiping  his  eyes  with  the  side  of  his  hand. 

"I'm  no  good!"  he  said  at  length,  wagging  his  head  and 
blinking  through  his  tears.  "I'm  —  I'm  done  for  and 
I  ain't  got  no  money;  yet,  of  course,  you  see  I  don't  mean 
no  offence.  What  I  want,  you  see,  is  to  be  a  man  and  not 
give  in  and  not  let  the  wolf  get  me,  and  then  I'll  go  back 
to  Paris.  Everything  goes  round  here,  very  slow,  and 
seems  far  off;  that's  why  I  can't  get  along,  and  I'm  that 
hungry  that  sometimes  I  twitch  all  over.  I'm  down.  I 
ain't  got  another  cent  of  money  and  I  lost  my  job  at  the 
paint-shop.  There's  where  I  drew  down  twenty  dollars 
a  week  painting  landscapes  on  safes,  you  know,  and 
then " 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  331 

Geary  interrupted  him,  crying  out,  "You  haven't  a 
cent?  Why,  what  have  you  done  with  your  bonds?" 

"Bonds?"  repeated  Vandover,  dazed  and  bewildered. 
"I  ain't  never  had  any  bonds.  What  bonds?  Oh,  yes," 
he  exclaimed,  suddenly  remembering,  "yes,  I  know,  my 
bonds,  of  course;  yes,  yes  —  well,  I  —  those  —  those,  I 
had  to  sell  those  bonds  —  had  some  debts,  you  see,  my 
board  and  my  tailor's  bill.  They  got  out  some  sort  of 
paper  after  me.  Yes,  I  had  forgotten  about  my  bonds. 
I  lost  every  damned  one  of  them  playing  cards  —  gambled 
'em  all  away.  Ain't  I  no  good?  But  I  was  winner  once 
—  just  in  two  nights  I  won  ten  thousand  dollars.  Then  I 
must  have  lost  it  again.  You  see,  I  get  so  hungry  some 
times  that  I  twitch  all  over  —  so,  just  like  that.  Lend  me 
a  dollar." 

For  a  few  moments  Geary  was  silent,  watching  Van 
dover  curiously,  as  he  sat  in  a  heap  on  the  edge  of  the  chair, 
fumbling  his  greenish  hat ,  looking  about  the  floor.  Pres 
ently  he  asked: 

"When  did  you  lose  your  job  at  the  paint-shop?  " 

"Day  before  yesterday." 

"And  you  are  out  of  work  now?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Vandover.  "I'm  broke;  I  haven't 
a  cent.  I'm  blest  if  I  know  how  I'm  to  get  along.  Lately 
I've  been  working  for  a  paint-shop,  painting  landscapes 
on  safes.  I  drew  down  fifty  dollars  a  week  there,  but  I've 
lost  my  job." 

"Good  Lord,  Van!"  Geary  suddenly  exclaimed,  nodding 
his  head  toward  him  reflectively,  "I'm  sorry  for  you!" 

The  other  laughed.  "Yes;  I  suppose  I'm  a  pitiable 
looking  object,  but  I'm  used  to  it.  I  don't  mind  much 


332  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

now  as  long  as  I  can  have  a  place  to  sleep  and  enough  to 
eat.  If  you  can  put  me  in  the  way  of  some  work,  Charlie, 
I'd  be  much  obliged.  You  see,  that's  what  I  want  — 
work.  I  don't  want  to  run  any  bunco  game.  I'm  an 
honest  man  —  I'm  too  honest.  I  gave  away  all  my  money 
to  help  another  poor  duck;  gave  him  thousands;  he  was 
good  to  me  when  I  was  on  my  uppers  and  I  meant  to  repay 
him.  I  was  grateful.  I  signed  a  paper  that  gave  him 
everything  I  had.  It  was  in  Paris.  There's  where  my 
bonds  went  to.  He  was  a  struggling  artist." 

"Look  here!"  said  Geary,  willing  to  be  interested, 
"you  might  as  well  be  truthful  with  me.  You  can't  lie 
to  me.  Have  you  gambled  away  all  those  bonds,  or  have 
you  been  victimized,  or  have  you  still  got  them?  Come, 
now,  spit  it  out." 

"Charlie,  I  haven't  a  cent!"  answered  Vandover, 
looking  him  squarely  in  the  face.  "Would  I  be  around 
here  and  trying  to  get  work  from  you  if  I  had?  No;  I 
gambled  it  all  away.  You  know  I  had  eighty-nine  hun 
dred  in  U.  S.  4  per  cents.  Well,  first  I  began  to  pawn 
things  when  my  money  got  short  —  the  Old  Gentleman's 
watch  that  I  said  I  never  would  part  with,  then  my  clothes. 
I  couldn't  keep  away  from  the  cards.  Of  course,  you  can't 
understand  that;  gambling  was  the  only  thing  that  could 
amuse  me.  Then  I  began  to  mortgage  my  bonds,  very 
little  at  first.  Oh,  I  went  slow!  Then  I  got  to  selling 
them.  Well,  somehow,  they  all  went.  For  a  time  I  got 
along  by  the  work  at  the  paint-shop.  But  they  have  let 
me  out  now;  said  I  was  so  irregular.  I  owe  for  nearly  a 
month  at  my  lodging-place."  His  eyes  sought  the  floor 
again,  rolling  about  stupidly.  "Nearly  a  month,  and 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  333 

that's  what  makes  me  jump  and  tremble  so.  You  ought 
to  see  me  sometimes  —  b-r-r-r-h!  —  and  I  get  to  barking ! 
I'm  a  wolf  mostly,  you  know,  or  some  kind  of  an  animal, 
some  kind  of  a  brute.  But  I'd  be  all  right  if  everything 
didn't  go  round  very  slowly,  and  seem  far  off.  But  I'm 
a  wolf.  You  look  out  for  me;  best  take  care  I  don't  bite 
you!  Wolf  — wolf!  Ah!  It's  up  four  flights  at  the 
end  of  the  hall,  very  dark,  eight  thousand  dollars  in  a 
green  cloth  sack,  and  lots  of  lights  a-burning.  See  how 
long  my  finger  nails  are  —  regular  claws;  that's  the  wolf, 
the  brute!  Why  can't  I  talk  in  my  mouth  instead  of  in 
my  throat?  That's  the  devil  of  it.  When  you  paint  on 
steel  and  iron  your  colours  don't  dry  out  true;  all  the 
yellows  turn  green.  But  it  would  'a'  been  all  straight  if 
they  hadn't  fined  me !  I  never  talked  to  anybody  —  that 
was  my  business,  wasn't  it?  And  when  all  those  eight 
thousand  little  lights  begin  to  burn  red,  why,  of  course 
that  makes  you  nervous !  So  I  have  to  drink  a  great  deal 
of  water  and  chew  butcher's  paper.  That  fools  him  and 
he  thinks  he's  eating.  Just  so  as  I  can  lay  quiet  in  the 
Plaza  when  the  sun  is  out.  There's  a  hack-stand  there, 
you  know,  and  every  time  that  horse  tosses  his  head  so's 
to  get  the  oats  in  the  bottom  of  the  nose-bag  he  jingles 
the  chains  on  the  poles  and,  by  God!  that's  funny;  makes 
me  laugh  every  time;  sounds  gay,  and  the  chain  sparkles 
mighty  pretty !  Oh,  I  don't  complain.  Give  me  a  dollar 
and  I'll  bark  for  you!" 

Geary  leaned  back  in  his  chair  listening  to  Vandover, 
struck  with  wonder,  marvelling  at  that  which  his  old 
chum  had  come  to  be.  He  was  sorry  for  him,  too,  yet, 
nevertheless,  he  felt  a  certain  indefinite  satisfaction,  a 


334  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

faint  exultation  over  his  misfortunes,  glad  that  their  po 
sitions  were  not  reversed,  pleased  that  he  had  been  clever 
enough  to  keep  free  from  those  habits,  those  modes  of 
life  that  ended  in  such  fashion.  He  rapped  sharply  on 
the  table.  Vandover  straightened  up,  raising  his  eyes: 

"You  want  some  work?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes;  that's  what  I'm  after,"  answered  Vandover, 
adding,  "I  must  have  it!" 

"Well,"  said  Geary,  hesitatingly,  "I  can  give  you 
something  to  do,  but  it  will  be  pretty  dirty." 

Vandover  smiled  a  little,  saying,  "I  guess  you  can't 
give  me  any  work  that  would  be  too  dirty  for  me!"  With 
the  words  he  suddenly  began  to  cry  again.  "I  want  to  be 
honest,  Mister  Geary,"  he  exclaimed,  drawing  the  backs 
of  his  fingers  across  his  lips;  "I  want  to  be  honest;  I'm 
down  and  I  don't  mean  no  offence.  Charlie,  you  and  I 
were  old  chums  once  at  Harvard.  My  God!  to  think 
I  was  a  Harvard  man  once!  Oh,  I'm  a  goner  now  and  I 
ain't  got  a  friend.  When  I  was  in  the  paint-shop  they 
paid  me  well.  I've  been  in  a  paint-shop  lately  painting 
the  little  pictures  on  the  safes,  little  landscapes,  you  know, 
and  lakes  with  mountains  around  them.  I  pulled  down 
my  twenty  dollars  and  findings! " 

"Oh,  don't  be  a  fool!"  cried  Geary,  ashamed  even  to 
see  such  an  exhibition.  "If  you  can't  be  a  man,  you  can 
get  out.  Now,  see  here,  you  came  up  here  once  and  in 
sulted  me  in  my  office,  and  called  me  a  swindler.  Ah, 
you  bet  you  had  the  swelled  head  then  and  insulted  me, 
attacked  my  honesty  and  charged  me  with  shoving  the 
queer.  Now  I  never  forget  those  things  generally,  but 
I  am  willing  to  let  that  pass  this  time.  I  could  be  nasty 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  335 

now  and  tell  you  to  rustle  for  yourself.  If  you  want  half 
a  dollar  now  to  get  something  to  eat,  why,  I'll  give  it  to 
you.  But  I  don't  propose  to  support  you.  ,  Ah,  no;  I 
guess  not!  If  you  want  to  work  I'll  give  you  a  chance, 
but  I  shall  expect  you  to  do  good  work  if  I  give  you  my 
good  money  for  it.  You  may  be  drunk  now  or  —  /  don't 
know  what's  the  matter  with  you.  But  you  come  up  here 
to-morrow  at  noon,  and  if  you  come  up  here  sober  or 
straight  or" —  Geary  began  to  make  awkward  gestures 
in  the  air  with  both  hands  —  "come  up  here  to  talk  busi 
ness.,  I  may  have  something  for  you,  but  I  can't  stop  any 
longer  this  evening." 

Vandover  got  upon  his  feet  slowly,  turning  his  greenish 
hat  about  by  the  brim,  nodding  his  head.  "All  right,  all 
right,"  he  answered.  "Thank  you  very  much,  Mister 
Geary.  It's  very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure.  I'll  be  around 
at  noon  sure." 

When  Geary  was  left  alone,  he  walked  slowly  to  his 
window,  and  stood  there  a  moment  looking  aimlessly  down 
into  the  street,  shaking  his  head  repeatedly,  astonished 
at  the  degradation  of  his  old-time  chum.  While  he  stood 
there  he  saw  Vandover  come  out  upon  the  sidewalk  from 
the  door  of  the  great  office  building.  Geary  watched  him, 
very  interested. 

Vandover  paused  a  moment  upon  the  sidewalk,  turning 
up  the  collar  of  his  old  cutaway  coat  against  the  cold 
trade  wind  that  was  tearing  through  the  streets;  he  thrust 
both  his  hands  deep  into  his  trousers  pockets,  gripping 
his  sides  with  his  elbows  and  drawing  his  shoulders  to 
gether,  shrinking  into  a  small  compass  in  order  to  be 
warm.  The  wind  blew  the  tails  of  his  cutaway  about 


336  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

him  like  flapping  wings.  He  went  up  the  street,  walking 
fast,  keeping  to  the  outside  of  the  sidewalk,  his  shoulders 
bent,  his  head  inclined  against  the  wind,  his  feet  dragging 
after  him  as  he  walked.  For  a  moment  Geary  lost  sight 
of  him  amid  a  group  of  men  who  were  hoisting  a  piano 
upon  a  dray.  The  street  was  rather  crowded  with  office 
boys,  clerks,  and  typewriters  going  home  to  supper,  and 
Geary  did  not  catch  sight  of  him  again  immediately;  then 
all  at  once  he  saw  him  hesitating  on  a  corner  of  Kearney 
Street,  waiting  for  an  electric  car  to  pass;  he  crossed  the 
street,  running,  his  hands  still  in  his  pockets,  and  went  on 
hurriedly,  dodging  in  and  out  of  the  throng,  his  high 
shoulders,  long  neck,  and  greenish  hat  coming  into  sight 
at  intervals.  For  a  moment  he  paused  to  glance  into  the 
show  window  of  a  tobacconist  and  pipe-seller's  store. 
A  Chinese  woman  passed  him,  pattering  along  lamely, 
her  green  jade  ear-rings  twinkling  in  the  light  of  a  street 
lamp,  newly  lighted.  Vandover  looked  after  her  a  mo 
ment,  gazing  stupidly,  then  suddenly  took  up  his  walk 
again,  zigzagging  amid  the  groups  on  the  asphalt,  strid 
ing  along  at  a  great  pace,  his  head  low  and  swinging  from 
side  to  side  as  he  walked.  He  was  already  far  down  the 
street;  it  was  dusk;  Geary  could  only  catch  glimpses  of 
his  head  and  shoulders  at  long  intervals.  He  disappeared. 

About  ten  minutes  before  one  the  next  day  as  Geary 
came  back  from  lunch  he  was  surprised  to  see  Vandover 
peeping  through  the  half-open  door  of  his  office.  He  had 
not  thought  that  Vandover  would  come  back. 

Of  the  many  different  stories  that  Vandover  had  told 
about  the  disappearance  of  his  bonds,  the  one  that  was 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  337 

probably  truest  was  the  one  that  accounted  for  the  thing 
by  his  passion  for  gambling.  For  a  long  time  after  his 
advent  at  the  Reno  House  this  passion  had  been  dormant; 
he  knew  no  one  with  whom  he  could  play,  and  every  cent 
of  his  income  now  went  for  food  and  lodging.  But  one 
day,  about  six  months  before  his  visit  to  Geary's  office, 
Vandover  saw  that  the  proprietor  of  the  Reno  House  had 
set  up  a  great  bagatelle  board  in  a  corner  of  the  reading- 
room.  A  group  of  men,  sailors,  ranchmen,  and  fruit 
venders  were  already  playing.  Vandover  approached 
and  watched  the  game,  very  interested  in  watching  the 
uncertain  course  of  the  marble  jog- jogging  among  the 
pins.  The  clear  little  note  of  the  bell  or  the  dry  rattle  as 
the  marble  settled  quickly  into  one  of  the  lucky  pockets 
thrilled  him  from  head  to  foot;  his  hands  trembled,  all  at 
once  his  whole  left  side  twitched  sharply. 

From  that  day  the  fate  of  the  rest  of  Vandover's  little 
money  was  decided.  In  two  weeks  he  had  lost  twenty 
dollars  at  bagatelle,  obtaining  the  money  by  selling  a 
portion  of  his  bonds  at  a  certain  broker's  on  Montgomery 
Street.  As  soon  as  he  had  begun  to  gamble  again  the 
old  habits  of  extravagance  had  come  back  upon  him. 
From  the  moment  he  knew  that  he  could  get  all  the  money 
he  wanted  by  the  mere  signing  of  a  paper,  he  ceased  to  be 
economical,  scorning  the  former  niggardliness  that  had 
led  him  to  starve  on  one  day  that  he  might  feast  the  next; 
now,  he  feasted  every  day.  He  still  kept  his  room  at  the 
Reno  House,  but  instead  of  taking  his  meals  by  any  ticket 
system,  he  began  to  affect  the  restaurants  of  the  Spanish 
quarter,  gorging  himself  with  the  hot  spiced  meals  three 
and  four  times  a  day.  He  quickly  abandoned  the  baga- 


338  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

telle  board  for  the  card-table,  gambling  furiously  with  two 
of  the  ranchmen.  Almost  invariably  Vandover  lost,  and 
the  more  he  lost  the  more  eager  and  reckless  he  became. 

In  a  little  time  he  had  sold  every  one  of  his  bonds  and 
had  gambled  away  all  but  twenty  dollars  of  the  money 
received  from  the  last  one  sold.  This  sum,  this  twenty 
dollars,  Vandover  decided  to  husband  carefully.  It  was 
all  that  was  left  between  him  and  starvation.  He  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  must  stop  gambling  and  find  some 
thing  to  do.  He  had  long  since  abandoned  his  work  at 
the  paint-shop,  but  at  this  time  he  returned  there  and  asked 
for  his  old  occupation.  They  laughed  in  his  face.  Was 
that  the  way  he  thought  they  did  business?  Not  much; 
another  man  had  his  job,  a  much  better  man  and  one  who 
was  regular,  who  could  be  depended  on.  That  same  even 
ing  Vandover  broke  his  twenty  dollars  and  became  very 
drunk.  A  game  of  poker  was  started  in  a  back  room  of 
one  of  the  saloons  on  the  Barbary  Coast.  One  of  the 
players  was  a  rancher  named  Toedt,  a  fellow-boarder  at 
the  Reno  House,  but  the  two  other  players  were  strangers; 
and  there  in  that  narrow,  dirty  room,  sawdust  on  the  floor, 
festoons  of  fly-specked  red  and  blue  tissue  paper  adorn 
ing  the  single  swinging  lamp,  figures  cut  from  bill-posters 
of  the  Black  Crook  pasted  on  the  walls,  there  in  the  still 
hours  after  midnight,  long  after  the  barroom  outside  had 
been  closed  for  the  night,  the  last  penny  of  Vandover's 
estate  was  gambled  away. 

The  game  ended  in  a  quarrel,  Vandover,  very  drunk, 
and  exasperated  at  his  ill  luck,  accusing  his  friend  Toedt, 
the  rancher,  of  cheating.  Toedt  kicked  him  in  the  stom 
ach  and  made  him  abominably  sick.  Then  they  went 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  339 

away  and  left  Vandover  alone  in  the  little  dirty  room, 
racked  with  nausea,  very  drunk,  fallen  forward  upon  the 
table  and  crying  into  his  folded  arms.  After  a  little  he 
went  to  sleep,  but  the  nausea  continued,  nevertheless,  and 
in  a  few  moments  he  gagged  and  vomited.  He  never 
moved.  He  was  too  drunk  to  wake.  His  hands  and  his 
coat-sleeves,  the  table  all  about  him,  were  foul  beyond 
words,  but  he  slept  on  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  inert,  stu 
pefied,  a  great  swarm  of  flies  buzzing  about  his  head  and 
face.  It  was  the  day  after  this  that  he  had  come  to  see 
Geary. 

"Ah,"  said  Geary,  as  he  came  up,  "it's  you,  is  it?  Well, 
I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  again.  Sit  down  outside  there 
in  the  hall  and  wait  a  few  minutes.  I'm  not  ready  to  go 
yet  —  or,  wait;  here,  I  tell  you  what  to  do."  Geary  wrote 
off  a  list  of  articles  on  a  slip  of  paper  and  pushed  it  across 
the  table  toward  Vandover,  together  with  a  little  money. 
"  You  get  those  at  the  nearest  grocery  and  by  the  time  you 
are  back  I'll  be  ready  to  go." 

That  day  Geary  took  Vandover  out  to  the  Mission. 
They  went  out  in  the  cable-car,  Geary  sitting  inside  read 
ing  the  morning's  paper,  Vandover  standing  on  the  front 
platform,  carrying  the  things  that  Geary  had  told  him  to 
buy :  a  bar  of  soap,  a  scrubbing  brush,  some  wiping  cloths, 
a  broom,  and  a  pail. 

Almost  at  the  end  of  the  car-line  they  got  off  and 
crossed  over  to  where  Geary's  property  stood.  Vandover 
looked  about  him.  The  ground  on  which  his  own  block 
had  once  stood  was  now  occupied  by  an  immense  red 
brick  building  with  white  stone  trimmings;  in  front  on 
either  side  of  the  main  entrance  were  white  stone  medal- 


340  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

lions  upon  which  were  chiselled  the  head  of  a  workman  wear 
ing  the  square  paper  cap  that  the  workman  never  wears, 
and  a  bent-up  forearm,  the  biceps  enormous,  the  fist  grip 
ping  the  short  hammer  that  the  workman  never  uses. 
An  enormous  round  chimney  sprouted  from  one  corner; 
through  the  open  windows  came  the  vast  purring  of 
machinery.  It  was  a  boot  and  shoe  factory,  built  by  the 
great  concern  who  had  bought  the  piece  of  property  from 
Geary  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  the  same  property 
Geary  had  bought  from  Vandover  for  eight. 

Across  the  street  from  the  factory  was  a  long  row  of 
little  cottages,  very  neat,  each  having  a  tiny  garden  in 
front  where  nasturtiums  grew.  There  were  fifteen  of 
these  cottages;  three  of  them  only  were  vacant. 

"That  was  my  idea,"  observed  Geary,  as  they  ap 
proached  the  row,  willing  to  explain  even  though  he 
thought  Vandover  would  not  comprehend,  "and  it  pays 
like  a  nitrate  bed.  I  was  clever  enough  to  see  that  cot 
tages  like  these  were  just  what's  wanted  by  the  workmen 
in  the  factory  that  have  families.  I  made  some  money 
when  I  sold  out  my  block  to  the  boot  and  shoe  people,  and 
I  invested  it  again  in  these  cottages.  They  are  cheap 
and  serviceable  and  they  meet  the  demand."  Vandover 
nodded  his  head  in  assent,  looking  vaguely  about  him, 
now  at  the  cottages,  now  at  the  great  building  across  the 
street.  Geary  got  the  keys  to  one  of  the  vacant  cottages 
and  the  two  went  inside. 

"Now  here's  what  I  want  you  to  do,"  began  Geary, 
pointing  about  with  his  stick.  "You  see,  when  some 
of  these  people  go  out  they  leave  the  rooms  nasty,  and 
that  tells  against  the  house  when  parties  come  to  look  at 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  341 

it.  I  want  you  to  go  all  over  it,  top  and  bottom,  end  to 
end,  and  give  it  a  good  cleaning,  sweep  the  floor,  and  wash 
the  paint,  you  know.  And  now  these  windows,  you  see 
how  dirty  they  are;  wash  those  inside  and  out,  but  don't 
disturb  the  agents'  signs;  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  I  understand." 

"Now  come  out  here  into  the  kitchen.  Look  at  these 
laundry  tubs  and  that  sink.  See  all  that  grease!  Clean 
that  all  out,  and  underneath  the  sink  here.  See  that  rub 
bish  !  Take  that  out,  too.  Now  in  here  —  look  at  that 
bathtub  and  toilet.  You  see  how  nasty  they  have  left 
them.  You  want  to  make  'em  look  like  new!" 

"Yes." 

"Now  come  downstairs.  You  see  I  give  'em  a  little 
floored  basement,  here;  kind  of  a  storeroom  and  coalroom. 
Here's  where  most  of  the  dirt  and  rubbish  is.  Just  look 
at  it!  See  all  that  pile  over  there?" 

"I  see." 

"Take  it  all  out  and  pile  it  in  the  back  yard.  I'll  have 
an  ash-man  come  and  remove  it.  Whew!  there  is  a  dead 
hen  under  here;  sling  that  out  the  first  thing." 

They  went  back  through  the  house  again,  and  Geary 
pointed  out  the  tiny  garden  to  Vandover.  "Straighten 
that  up  a  bit,  pick  up  those  old  newspapers  and  the  tin 
cans.  Make  it  look  neat.  Now  you  understand  just 
what  I  want?  You  make  a  good  job  of  it,  and  when  you 
are  through  with  this  house,  you  begin  on  the  next  vacant 
one  farther  down  the  row.  You  can  get  the  keys  at  the 
same  place.  You  get  to  work  right  away.  I  should 
think  you  ought  to  finish  this  house  this  afternoon." 

"All  right,"  answered  Vandover. 


342  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

"I'm  going  to  look  around  a  little.  I'll  drop  in  again 
in  about  an  hour  and  see  how  you're  getting  on." 

With  that  Geary  went  away.  It  was  Saturday  after 
noon,  and  as  the  law  office  closed  at  noon  that  day,  Geary 
very  often  spent  the  time  until  evening  looking  about  his 
property.  He  left  Vandover  and  went  slowly  down  the 
street,  noting  each  particular  house  with  immense  satis 
faction,  even  entering  some  of  them,  talking  with  the 
womenfolk,  all  the  men  being  at  the  factory. 

Vandover  took  off  his  coat,  his  old  and  greasy  cutaway, 
and  began  work.  He  drew  a  pail  of  water  from  the  garden 
faucet  in  a  neighbour's  yard,  and  commenced  washing 
the  windows.  First  he  washed  the  panes  from  the  inside, 
very  careful  not  to  disturb  Adams  &  Brunt's  signs,  and 
then  cleaned  the  outside,  sitting  upon  the  window  ledge, 
his  body  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  house. 

Geary  enjoyed  himself  immensely.  The  news  of  the 
landlord's  visit  had  spread  from  cottage  to  cottage,  awak 
ening  a  mild  excitement  throughout  the  length  of  the 
row.  The  women  showed  themselves  on  the  steps  or  on 
the  sidewalks,  very  slatternly,  without  corsets,  their  hair 
coming  down,  dressed  in  faded  calico  wrappers  just  as 
they  had  come  from  the  laundry  tubs  or  the  cook-stove. 
They  bethought  them  of  their  various  grievances,  a  leak 
here,  a  broken  door-bell  there,  a  certain  bad  smell  that 
was  supposed  to  have  some  connection  with  a  rash  upon 
the  children's  faces.  They  waited  for  Geary's  appearance 
by  ones  and  twos,  timid,  very  respectful,  but  querulous  for 
all  that,  filling  the  air  with  their  lamentations. 

Vandover  had  finished  with  the  windows.  Now  he  was 
cleaning  out  the  sink  and  the  laundry  tubs.  They  smelt 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  343 

very  badly  and  were  all  foul  with  a  greasy  mixture  of  old 
lard,  soap,  soot,  and  dust;  a  little  mould  was  even  begin 
ning  to  form  about  the  faucets  of  the  tubs.  The  escape 
pipe  of  the  sink  was  clogged,  and  he  had  to  run  his  finger 
into  it  again  and  again  to  get  it  free.  The  kitchen  was 
very  dirty;  old  bottles  of  sweet  oil,  mouldy  vinegar  and 
flat  beer  cluttered  the  dusty  shelves  of  the  pantry. 

Meanwhile  Geary  continued  his  rounds.  He  went  about 
among  the  groups  of  his  tenants,  very  pleased  and  con 
tented,  smiling  affably  upon  them.  He  enlarged  him 
self,  giving  himself  the  airs  of  an  English  lord  in  the  midst 
of  his  tenantry,  listening  to  their  complaints  with  a  good- 
humoured  smile  of  toleration.  A  few  men  were  about, 
some  of  whom  were  out  of  work  for  the  moment;  others 
who  were  sick.  To  these  Geary  was  particularly  conde 
scending.  He  sat  in  their  parlours,  little,  crowded  rooms, 
smelling  of  stale  upholstery  and  of  the  last  meal,  where 
knitted  worsted  tidies,  very  gaudy,  covered  the  backs  of 
the  larger  chairs  and  where  one  inevitably  discovered  the 
whatnot  standing  in  one  corner,  its  shelves  filled  with 
shell-boxes,  broken  thermometers  and  little  alabaster  jars, 
shaped  like  funeral  urns,  where  one  kept  the  matches. 
The  wife  brought  the  children  in,  very  dirty,  looking  sol 
emnly  at  Geary,  their  eyes  enlarged  in  the  direct  unwink 
ing  gaze  of  cows. 

By  this  time  Vandover  had  finished  with  the  sinks  and 
tubs  and  was  down  upon  his  hands  and  knees  scrubbing 
the  stains  of  grease  upon  the  floor  of  the  kitchen.  It  was 
very  hard  work,  as  his  water  was  cold.  He  was  still  work 
ing  about  this  spot  when  Geary  returned.  By  this  time 
Vandover  was  so  tired  that  he  trembled  all  over,  his  spine 


344  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

seemed  to  be  breaking  in  two,  and  every  now  and  then  he 
paused  and  passed  his  hand  over  the  small  of  his  back, 
closing  his  eyes  and  drawing  a  long  breath. 

"Well,  how  are  you  getting  on?"  asked  Geary,  as  he 
came  into  the  kitchen,  drawing  on  his  gloves,  about  ready 
to  go  home. 

"Oh,  I'm  getting  along,"  replied  Vandover,  rising  up  to 
his  knees. 

"You  want  to  hurry  up,"  answered  Geary.  "You 
must  be  done  with  this  house  by  this  evening.  You  see,  I 
want  to  advertise  it  in  to-morrow's  papers." 

"All  right;  I'll  have  it  done." 

"Pretty  dirty,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  pretty  dirty." 

"You  may  have  to  work  here  a  little  later  than  usual 
this  afternoon,  but  be  sure  you  have  everything  cleaned 
up  before  you  leave,"  Geary  said. 

"All  right,"  answered  Vandover,  bending  to  his  work 
again. 

Just  as  Geary  was  leaving  he  had  the  admirable  good 
fortune  to  meet  on  the  steps  of  the  cottage  a  little  group 
who  were  house-hunting;  two  young  women  and  a  little 
boy.  The  mother  of  the  little  boy,  so  she  explained  to 
him,  was  married  to  one  of  the  burnishers  in  the  factory; 
the  other  woman  was  her  sister. 

Geary  showed  them  about  the  little  house,  very  eager 
to  secure  them  as  tenants  then  and  there.  He  began  to 
sing  its  praises,  its  nearness  to  the  factory,  its  excellent 
plumbing,  its  bathroom  and  its  one  stationary  wash- 
stand;  its  little  garden  and  its  location  on  the  sunny  side 
of  the  street.  "I'm  a  good  landlord,"  he  said  to  them,  as 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  345 

he  ushered  them  into  the  kitchen.  "Any  one  in  the  row 
will  tell  you  that.  I  make  it  a  point  to  keep  my  houses 
in  good  repair  and  to  keep  them  clean.  You  see,  I  have 
a  man  here  now  cleaning  out."  Vandover  glanced  up 
at  the  women  an  instant.  The  two  of  them  and  the  little 
boy  looked  down  at  him  on  all  fours  upon  the  floor.  Then 
he  went  on  with  his  work. 

"This  is  the  kitchen,  you  see,"  pursued  Geary.  "Not 
ice  how  large  it  is;  you  see,  here  are  your  laundry  tubs, 
your  iron  sink,  your  boiler,  everything  you  need.  Of 
course,  it's  a  little  grimy  now,  but  by  the  time  the  man  gets 
through,  it  will  be  as  clean  as  your  face.  Now  come  down 
stairs  here  and  I'll  show  the  basement." 

In  a  moment  their  voices  sounded  through  the  floor  of 
the  kitchen,  an  indistinct,  continuous  murmur.  Then  the 
party  returned  and  passed  by  Vandover  again  and  stood 
for  a  long  time  in  the  front  room  haggling.  The  cottage 
rented  for  fifteen  dollars.  The  young  woman  was  willing 
to  take  it  at  that,  but  with  the  understanding  that  Geary 
should  pay  the  water  rent.  Geary  refused,  unwilling 
even  to  listen  to  such  a  thing.  Every  other  tenant  in 
the  row  paid  for  his  own  water.  The  young  women  went 
away  shaking  their  heads  sadly.  Geary  let  them  get  half 
way  down  the  front  steps  and  then  called  them  back. 
He  offered  a  compromise,  the  young  women  should  pay 
for  the  water,  but  half  of  their  first  month's  rent  should  be 
remitted.  The  burnisher's  wife  still  hesitated,  saying, 
"You  know  yourself  this  house  is  awfully  dirty." 

"Well,  you  see  I'm  having  it  cleaned!" 

"It'll  have  to  be  cleaned  pretty  thoroughly.  I  can't 
stand  dirt." 


346  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

" It  mil  be  cleaned  thoroughly,"  persisted  Geary.  "The 
man  will  work  at  it  until  it  is.  You  can  keep  an  eye  on 
him  and  see  that  the  work  is  done  to  suit  you." 

"You  see,"  objected  the  burnisher's  wife,  "I  would 
want  to  move  in  right  away.  I  don't  want  to  wait  all 
week  for  the  man  to  get  through." 

"But  he  is  going  to  be  through  with  this  house  to-night," 
exclaimed  Geary  delighted.  "Come  now,  I  know  you 
want  this  cottage  and  I  would  like  to  have  such  nice-look 
ing  people  have  it.  I  know  you  would  make  good  tenants. 
I  can  find  lots  of  other  tenants  for  this  house,  only  you 
know  how  it  is,  a  nasty,  slovenly  woman  about  the  house 
and  a  raft  of  dirty  children.  And  you  don't  like  dirt,  I 
can  see  that.  Better  call  it  a  bargain,  and  let  it  go  at 
that." 

In  the  end  the  burnisher's  wife  took  the  house.  Geary 
even  induced  her  to  deposit  five  dollars  with  him  in  order 
to  secure  it. 

Vandover  was  down  in  the  basement  filling  a  barrel 
with  the  odds  and  ends  of  rubbish  left  by  the  previous 
tenants:  broken  bottles,  old  corsets,  bones,  rusty  bed- 
springs.  The  dead  hen  he  had  taken  out  first  of  all,  carry 
ing  it  by  one  leg.  It  was  a  gruesome  horror,  partly  eaten 
by  rats,  swollen,  abnormally  heavy,  one  side  flattened  from 
lying  so  long  upon  the  floor.  He  could  hardly  stand; 
each  time  he  bent  over  it  seemed  as  though  his  backbone 
was  disjointing.  After  cleaning  out  the  debris  he  began 
to  sweep.  The  dust  was  fearful,  choking,  blinding,  so 
thick  that  he  could  hardly  see  what  he  was  about.  By  and 
by  he  dimly  made  out  Geary's  figure  in  the  doorway. 

"Those  people  have  taken  the  house,"  he  called  out, 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  347 

"and  I  promised  them  you  would  be  through  with  it  by 
this  evening.  So  you  want  to  stay  with  it  now  till  you're 
finished.  I  guess  there's  not  much  more  to  do.  Don't 
forget  the  little  garden  in  front." 

"No;  I  won't  forget!" 

Geary  went  away,  and  for  another  hour  Vandover  kept 
at  his  work,  stolidly,  his  mind  empty  of  all  thought,  know 
ing  only  that  he  was  very  tired,  that  his  back  pained  him. 
He  finished  with  the  basement,  but  as  he  was  pottering 
about  the  little  garden,  picking  up  the  discoloured  news 
papers  with  which  it  was  littered,  the  burnisher's  wife 
returned,  together  with  her  sister  and  the  little  boy;  the 
little  boy  eating  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter.  They  re- 
entered  the  house;  Vandover  heard  their  voices,  now  in 
one  room,  now  in  another.  They  were  looking  over  their 
future  home  again;  evidently  they  lived  close  by. 

Suddenly  the  burnisher's  wife  came  out  upon  the  front 
steps,  looking  down  into  the  little  garden,  calling  for  Van 
dover.  She  was  not  pretty;  she  had  a  nose  like  a  man  and 
her  chin  was  broad. 

"Say,  there,"  she  called  to  Vandover,  "do  you  mean  to 
say  that  you've  finished  inside  here?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Vandover,  straightening  up,  nodding 
his  head.  "Yes,  I've  finished." 

"Well,  just  come  in  here  and  look  at  this." 

Vandover  followed  her  into  the  little  parlour.  Her  sis 
ter  was  there,  very  fat,  smelling  somehow  of  tallow  candles 
and  cooked  cabbage;  nearby  stood  the  little  boy  still  eat 
ing  his  bread  and  butter. 

"Look  at  that  baseboard,"  exclaimed  the  burnisher's 
wife.  "You  never  touched  that,  I'll  bet  a  hat."  Van- 


348  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

dover  did  not  answer;  he  brought  in  the  pail  of  water, 
and  soaping  his  scrubbing  brush,  went  down  again  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  washing  the  paint  on  the  baseboard 
where  the  burnisher's  wife  indicated.  The  two  women 
stood  by,  looking  on  and  directing  his  movements.  The 
little  boy  watched  everything,  never  speaking  a  word, 
slowly  eating  his  bread  and  butter.  Streaks  of  butter 
and  bread  clung  to  his  cheeks,  stretching  from  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  to  his  ears. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  come  to  overlook  that,"  said  the 
burnisher's  wife  to  Vandover.  "That's  the  dirtiest  base 
board  I  ever  saw.  Oh,  my!  I  just  can't  naturally  stand 
dirt!  There,  you  didn't  get  that  stain  off.  That's 
tobacco  juice,  I  guess.  Go  back  and  wash  that  over 
again."  Vandover  obeyed,  holding  the  brush  in  one  hand, 
crawling  back  along  the  floor  upon  one  palm  and  his  two 
knees,  a  pool  of  soapy,  dirty  water  very  cold  gathered 
about  him,  soaking  in  through  the  old  "blue  pants"  and 
wetting  him  to  the  skin,  but  he  slovened  through  it  in 
differently.  "Put  a  little  more  elbow  grease  to  it,"  con 
tinued  the  burnisher's  wife.  "You  have  to  rub  them 
spots  pretty  hard  to  get  'em  out.  Now  scrub  all  along 
here  near  the  floor.  You  see  that  streak  there  —  that's 
all  gormed  up  with  something  or  other.  Bugs  get  in  there 
mighty  quick.  There,  that'll  do,  I  guess.  Now,  is  every 
thing  else  all  clean?  Mister  Geary  said  it  was  to  be  done 
to  my  satisfaction,  and  that  you  were  to  stay  here  until 
everything  was  all  right." 

All  at  once  her  voice  was  interrupted  by  the  prolonged 
roar  of  the  factory's  whistle,  blowing  as  though  it  would 
never  stop.  It  was  half-past  five.  In  an  instant  the 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  349 

faint  purring  of  the  machinery  dwindled  and  ceased, 
leaving  an  abrupt  silence  in  the  air.  A  moment  later  the 
army  of  operatives  began  to  pour  out  of  the  main  en 
trance;  men  and  girls  and  young  boys,  all  in  a  great  hurry, 
the  men  settling  their  coat  collars  as  they  ran  down  the 
steps.  The  usually  quiet  street  was  crowded  in  an  in 
stant. 

The  burnisher's  wife  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  vacant 
house  with  her  sister,  watching  the  throng  debouch  into 
the  street.  All  at  once  the  sister  exclaimed,  "There  he 
is!"  and  the  other  began  to  call,  "Oscar,  Oscar!"  wav 
ing  her  hand  to  one  of  the  workmen  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street.  It  was  her  husband,  the  burnisher,  and  he 
came  across  the  street,  crowding  his  lunch,  basket  into  the 
pocket  of  his  coat.  He  was  a  thin  little  man  with  a  timid 
air,  his  face  white  and  fat  and  covered  with  a  sparse  un 
shaven  stubble  of  a  pale  straw  colour.  An  odour  as  of  a 
harness  shop  hung  about  him.  Vandover  gathered  up  his 
broom  and  pail  and  soap  preparing  to  go  home. 

"Well,  Oscar,  I've  taken  the  house!"  said  his  wife  to 
the  burnisher  as  he  came  up  the  steps.  "But  I  couldn't 
get  him  to  say  that  he'd  let  me  have  it  for  fifteen,  water 
included.  The  landlord  himself,  Mr.  Geary,  was  here  to 
day  and  I  made  the  dicker  with  him.  He's  had  a  man  here 
all  day  cleaning  up."  She  explained  the  bargain,  the  bur 
nisher  approving  of  everything,  nodding  his  head  contin 
ually.  His  wife  showed  him  about  the  house,  her  sister 
and  the  little  boy  following  in  silence.  "He's  a  good  land 
lord,  I  guess,"  continued  the  young  woman;  "anybody  in 
the  row  will  tell  you  that,  and  he  means  to  keep  his  houses 
in  good  repair.  Now  you  see,  here's  the  kitchen.  You 


350  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

see  how  big  it  is.  Here's  our  laundry  tubs,  our  iron  sink, 
our  boiler,  and  everything  we  want.  It's  all  as  clean  as  a 
whistle;  and  get  on  to  this  big  cubby  under  the  sink  where 
I  can  stow  away  things."  She  opened  its  door  to  show  her 
husband,  but  all  at  once  straightened  up,  exclaiming, 
"  Well,  dear  me  suz  —  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  that?  " 
The  cubby  under  the  sink  was  abominably  dirty.  Van- 
dover  had  altogether  forgotten  it. 

The  little  burnisher  himself  bent  down  and  peered  in.  , 

"  Oh,  that'll  never  do ! "  he  cried.  "  Has  that  man  gone 
home  yet?  He  mustn't;  he's  got  to  clean  this  out  first!" 
He  had  a  weak,  faint  voice,  small  and  timid  like  his  figure. 
He  hurried  out  to  the  front  door  and  called  Vandover  back 
just  as  he  was  going  down  the  steps.  The  two  went  back 
into  the  kitchen  and  stood  in  front  of  the  sink.  "Look 
under  there!"  piped  the  burnisher.  "You  can't  leave 
that,  that  way." 

"You  know,"  protested  his  wife,  "that  this  all  was  to  be 
done  to  our  satisfaction.  Mr.  Geary  said  so.  That's 
the  only  way  I  came  to  take  the  house." 

"It's  about  six  o'clock,  though,"  observed  her  fat  sister, 
who  smelt  of  cooked  cabbage.  "Perhaps  he'd  want  to 
go  home  to  his  dinner."  But  at  this  both  the  others  cried 
out  in  one  voice,  the  burnisher  exclaiming:  "I  can't  help 
that,  this  has  got  to  be  done  first,"  while  his  wife  protested 
that  she  couldn't  naturally  stand  dirt,  adding,  "This  all 
was  to  be  done  to  our  satisfaction,  and  we  ain't  satisfied 
yet  by  a  long  shot."  Delighted  at  this  excitement,  the 
little  boy  forgot  to  eat  into  his  bread  and  butter,  rolling 
his  eyes  wildly  from  one  to  the  other,  still  silent. 

Meanwhile,  without  replying,  Vandover  had  gone  down 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  351 

upon  the  floor  again,  poking  about  amid  the  filth  under 
the  sink.  The  four  others,  the  burnisher,  his  wife,  his 
sister-in-law  and  his  little  boy,  stood  about  in  a  half -circle 
behind  him,  seeing  to  it  that  he  did  the  work  properly, 
giving  orders  as  to  how  he  should  proceed. 

"Now,  be  sure  you  get  everything  out  that's  under 
there,"  said  the  burnisher.  "Ouf !  how  it  smells!  They 
made  a  regular  dump  heap  of  it." 

"What's  that  over  in  the  corner  there?"  cried  the  wife, 
bending  down.  "I  can't  see,  it's  so  dark  under  there  — 
something  gray ;  can't  you  see,  in  under  there?  You'll  have 
to  crawl  way  in  to  get  at  it  —  go  way  in!"  Vandover 
obeyed.  The  sink  pipes  were  so  close  above  him  that  he 
was  obliged  to  crouch  lower  and  lower;  at  length  he  lay 
flat  upon  his  stomach.  Prone  in  the  filth  under  the  sink, 
in  the  sour  water,  the  grease,  the  refuse,  he  groped 
about  with  his  hand  searching  for  the  something  gray 
that  the  burnisher's  wife  had  seen.  He  found  it  and 
drew  it  out.  It  was  an  old  hambone  covered  with  a  green 
ish  fuzz. 

"Oh,  did  you  ever!"  cried  the  burnisher,  holding  up 
his  hands.  "Here,  don't  drop  that  on  my  clean  floor; 
put  it  in  your  pail.  Now  get  out  the  rest  of  the  dirt,  and 
hurry  up,  it's  late."  Vandover  crawled  back,  half  the 
way  under  the  sink  again,  this  time  bringing  out  a  rusty 
pan  half  full  of  some  kind  of  congealed  gravy  that  exhaled 
a  choking,  acrid  odour;  next  it  was  an  old  stocking,  and 
then  an  ink  bottle,  a  broken  rat-trap,  a  battered  teapot 
lacking  a  nozzle,  a  piece  of  rubber  hose,  an  old  comb 
choked  with  a  great  handful  of  hair,  a  torn  overshoe, 
newspapers,  and  a  great  quantity  of  other  debris  that  had 


352  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

accumulated  there  during  the  occupancy  of  the  previous 
tenant. 

"Now  go  over  the  floor  with  a  rag,"  ordered  the  little 
burnisher,  when  the  last  of  these  articles  had  been  brought 
out.  "Wipe  up  all  that  nasty  muck!  Look  there  by 
your  knee  to  your  left!  Scrub  that  big  spot  there  with 
your  brush  —  looks  like  grease.  That's  the  style  —  scrub 
it  hard!"  His  wife  joined  her  directions  to  his.  Then  it 
was  over  here,  and  over  there,  now  in  that  corner,  now  in 
this,  and  now  with  his  brush  and  soap,  and  now  with  his 
dry  rag,  and  hurry  up  all  the  time  because  it  was  growing 
late.  But  the  little  boy,  carried  away  by  the  interest  of  the 
occasion,  suddenly  broke  silence  for  the  first  time,  crying 
out  shrilly,  his  mouth  full  of  bread  and  butter,  "Hey 
there!  Get  up,  you  old  lazee-bones ! " 

The  others  shouted  with  laughter.  There  was  a  smart 
little  boy  for  you.  Ah,  he'd  be  a  man  before  his  mother. 
It  was  wonderful  how  that  boy  saw  everything  that  went 
on.  He  took  an  interest,,  that  was  it.  You  ought  to  see, 
he  watched  everything,  and  sometimes  he'd  plump  out 
with  things  that  were  astonishing  for  a  boy  of  his  years. 
Only  four  and  a  half,  too,  and  they  reminded  each  other 
of  the  first  day  he  put  on  knickerbockers;  stood  in  front  of 
the  house  on  the  sidewalk  all  day  long  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets.  The  interest  was  directed  from  Vandover, 
they  turned  their  backs,  grouping  themselves  about  the 
little  boy.  The  burnisher's  sister-in-law  felt  called  upon 
to  tell  about  her  little  girl,  a  matter  of  family  pride.  She 
was  going  on  twelve,  and  would  you  suppose  that  little, 
thing  was  in  next  to  the  last  grade  in  the  grammar  school? 
Her  teacher  had  said  that  she  was  a  real  wonder;  never 


VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE  353 

had  had  such  a  bright  pupil.  Ah,  but  one  should  see  how 
she  studied  over  her  books  all  the  time.  Next  year  they 
were  to  try  to  get  her  into  the  high  school.  Of  course 
she  was  not  ready  for  the  high  school  yet,  and  it  was  against 
the  rule  to  let  children  in  that  way,  she  was  too  young,  but 
they  had  a  pull,  you  understand.  Oh,  yes,  for  sure  they 
had  a  pull.  They'd  work  her  in  all  right.  The  burnisher's 
wife  was  not  listening.  She  wanted  to  draw  the  interest 
back  to  her  own  little  boy.  She  bent  down  and  straight 
ened  out  his  little  jacket,  saying,  "Does  he  like  his  bread 
'n  butter?  Well,  he  could  have  all  he  wanted ! "  But  the 
little  boy  paid  no  attention  to  her.  He  had  made  a  bon- 
mot,  ambition  stirred  in  him,  he  had  tasted  the  delights 
of  an  appreciative  audience.  Bread  and  butter  had  fallen 
in  his  esteem.  He  wished  to  repeat  his  former  success, 
and  cried  out  shriller  than  ever: 

"Hey,  there!     Get  up,  you  old  lazee-bones ! " 

But  his  father  corrected  him  —  his  mother  ought  not 
to  encourage  him  to  be  rude.  "That's  not  right,  Oscar," 
he  observed,  shaking  his  head .  "  You  must  be  kind  to  the 
poor  man." 

Vandover  was  sitting  back  on  his  heels  to  rest  his  back, 
waiting  till  the  others  should  finish. 

"Well,  all  through?"  inquired  the  burnisher  in  his  thin 
voice.  Vandover  nodded.  But  his  wife  was  not  satis 
fied  until  she  had  herself  carefully  peered  into  the  cubby, 
while  her  husband  held  a  lighted  match  for  her.  "Ah, 
that's  something  like,"  she  said  finally. 

It  was  nearly  seven.  Vandover  prepared  to  go  home  a 
second  time.  The  little  boy  stood  in  front  of  him,  looking 
down  at  him  as  he  made  his  brush  and  rags  and  broom 


354  VANDOVER  AND  THE  BRUTE 

into  a  bundle;  the  boy  slowly  eating  his  bread  and  butte 
the  while.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  an  excited  whisperec 
conference  was  going  on  between  the  burnisher,  his  wife 
and  his  fat  sister-in-law.  From  time  to  time  one  hearc 
such  expressions  as  "Overtime,  you  know  —  not  afraic 
of  work  —  ah!  think  I'd  better,  looks  as  though  he  needec 
it."  In  a  moment  the  two  women  went  out,  calling  ir 
vain  for  the  little  boy  to  follow,  and  the  burnisher  crossec 
the  room  toward  Vandover.  Vandover  was  on  his  knees 
tying  up  his  bundle  with  a  bit  of  bale  rope. 

"I'm  sorry,"  began  the  burnisher  awkwardly.  "We 
didn't  mean  to  keep  you  from  your  supper  —  here,"  he 
went  on,  holding  out  a  quarter  to  Vandover,  "here,  you 
take  this,  that's  all  right  —  you  worked  overtime  for  us, 
that's  all  right.  Come  along,  Oscar;  come  along,  m'  son." 

Vandover  put  the  quarter  in  his  vest  pocket. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said. 

The  burnisher  hurried  away,  calling  back,  "Come 
along,  m'  son;  don't  keep  your  mama  waiting  for  supper." 
But  the  little  boy  remained  very  interested  in  watching 
Vandover,  still  on  the  floor,  tying  the  last  knots.  As  he 
finished,  he  glanced  up.  For  an  instant  the  two  remained 
there  motionless,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  Vandover 
on  the  floor,  one  hand  twisted  into  the  bale  rope  about 
his  bundle,  the  little  boy  standing  before  him  eating  the 
last  mouthful  of  his  bread  and  butter. 


THE     END 


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U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


